The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals, Volume 2

346.—­To William Gifford.

November 12, 1813.

My Dear Sir,—­I hope you will consider, when I venture on any request, that it is the reverse of a certain Dedication, and is addressed, not to “The Editor of the ‘Quarterly Review’” but to Mr. Gifford.  You will understand this, and on that point I need trouble you no farther.

You have been good enough to look at a thing of mine in MS.—­a Turkish story, and I should feel gratified if you would do it the same favour in its probationary state of printing.  It was written, I cannot say for amusement, nor “obliged by hunger and request of friends,” [1] but in a state of mind, from circumstances which occasionally occur to “us youth,” that rendered it necessary for me to apply my mind to something, any thing but reality; and under this not very brilliant inspiration it was composed.  Being done, and having at least diverted me from myself, I thought you would not perhaps be offended if Mr. Murray forwarded it to you.  He has done so, and to apologise for his doing so a second time is the object of my present letter.

I beg you will not send me any answer.  I assure you very sincerely I know your time to be occupied, and it is enough, more than enough, if you read; you are not to be bored with the fatigue of answers.

A word to Mr. Murray will be sufficient, and send it either to the flames or

      “A hundred hawkers’ load,
  On wings of wind to fly or fall abroad.”

It deserves no better than the first, as the work of a week, and scribbled ‘stans pede in uno’ [2], (by the by, the only foot I have to stand on); and I promise never to trouble you again under forty cantos, and a voyage between each.  Believe me ever,

Your obliged and affectionate servant,

BYRON.

[Footnote 1:  Pope, ‘Epistle to Arbuthnot’, l. 44.]

[Footnote 2:  Horace, ‘Sat’. 1. iv. 10.]

347.—­To John Murray.

Nov. 12, 1813.

Two friends of mine (Mr. Rogers and Mr. Sharpe) have advised me not to risk at present any single publication separately, for various reasons.  As they have not seen the one in question, they can have no bias for or against the merits (if it has any) or the faults of the present subject of our conversation.  You say all the last of ‘The Giaour’ [1] are gone—­at least out of your hands.  Now, if you think of publishing any new edition with the last additions which have not yet been before the reader (I mean distinct from the two-volume publication), we can add “’The Bride of Abydos’,” which will thus steal quietly into the world [2]:  if liked, we can then throw off some copies for the purchasers of former “Giaours;” and, if not, I can omit it in any future publication.  What think you?  I really am no judge of those things; and, with all my natural partiality for one’s own productions, I would rather follow any one’s judgment than my own.

P.S.—­Pray let me have the proofs.  I sent all to-night.  I have some alterations that I have thought of that I wish to make speedily.  I hope the proof will be on separate pages, and not all huddled together on a mile-long, ballad-singing sheet, as those of ‘The Giaour’ sometimes are:  for then I can’t read them distinctly.

[Footnote 1:  In ‘Accepted Addresses; or, Premium Poetarum’, pp. 50-52 (1813), ‘Address’ xvii. is from “Lord B——­n to J. M——­y, Book-seller.”  The address itself runs as follows: 

  “A Turkish tale I shall unfold,
  A sweeter tale was never told;
  But then the facts, I must allow,
  Are in the east not common now;
  Tho’ in the ‘olden time,’ the scene
  My Goaour (sic) describes had often been. 
  What is the cause!  Perhaps the fair
  Are now more cautious than they were;
  Perhaps the Christians not so bold,
  So enterprising as of old. 
  No matter what the cause may be,
  It is a subject fit for me.

  “Take my disjointed fragments then,
  The offspring of a willing pen. 
  And give them to the public, pray,
  On or before the month of May. 
  Yes, my disjointed fragments take,
  But do not ask how much they’ll make. 
  Perhaps not fifty pages—­well,
  I in a little space can tell
  Th’ adventures of an infidel;
  Of quantity I never boast,
  For quality’s, approved of most.

  “It is a handsome sum to touch,
  Induces authors to write much;
  But in this much, alas! my friend,
  How little is there to commend. 
  So, Mr. M——­y, I disdain,
  To sacrifice my muse for gain. 
  I wish it to be understood,
  The little which I write is good.

  “I do not like the quarto size,
  Th’ octavo, therefore, I advise. 
  Then do not, Mr. M——­y, fail,
  To publish this, my Turkish Tale;
  For tho’ the volume may be thin,
  A thousand readers it will win;
  And when my pages they explore,
  They’ll gladly read them o’er and o’er;
  And all the ladies, I engage,
  With tears will moisten every page.”]

[Footnote 2:  John Murray writes, in an undated letter to Byron,

  “Mr. Canning returned the poem to-day with very warm expressions of
  delight.  I told him your delicacy as to separate publication, of which
  he said you should remove every apprehension.”]

348.—­To John Murray.

Nov. 13, 1813.

Will you forward the letter to Mr. Gifford with the proof?  There is an alteration I may make in Zuleika’s speech, in second canto (the only one of hers in that canto).  It is now thus: 

        And curse—­if I could curse—­the day.

It must be: 

        And mourn—­I dare not curse—­the day,
        That saw my solitary birth, etc., etc.

Ever yours, B.

In the last MS. lines sent, instead of “living heart,” correct to “quivering heart.”  It is in line 9th of the MS. passage.  Ever yours again,

B.

349.—­To John Murray.

Alteration of a line in Canto 2nd. 
Instead of: 

  And tints to-morrow with a fancied ray

Print: 

  And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray.

  The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
  And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray;

Or,

  And {gilds/tints} the hope of Morning with its ray;

Or,

  And gilds to-morrow’s hope with heavenly ray.

Dear Sir,—­I wish you would ask Mr. G. which of them is best, or rather not worst.

Ever yours, B.

You can send the request contained in this at the same time with the revise, after I have seen the said revise.

350.—­To John Murray.

Nov. 13, 1813.

Certainly.  Do you suppose that no one but the Galileans are acquainted with Adam, and Eve, and Cain, [1] and Noah?—­Surely, I might have had Solomon, and Abraham, and David, and even Moses, or the other.  When you know that Zuleika is the Persian poetical name for Potiphar’s wife, on whom and Joseph there is a long poem in the Persian, this will not surprise you.  If you want authority look at Jones, D’Herbelot, ‘Vathek’, or the notes to the ‘Arabian Nights’; and, if you think it necessary, model this into a note.

Alter, in the inscription, “the most affectionate respect,” to “with every sentiment of regard and respect,”

[Footnote 1: 

  “Some doubt had been expressed by Murray as to the propriety of his
  putting the name of Cain into the mouth of a Mussulman.”

(Moore).]

351.—­To John Murray.

Nov. 14, 1813.

I send you a note for the ignorant, but I really wonder at finding you among them.  I don’t care one lump of Sugar for my poetry; but for my costume, and my correctness on those points (of which I think the funeral was a proof), I will combat lustily.

Yours ever,

B.

352.—­To John Murray.

November 15, 1813.

DEAR SIR,—­Mr. Hodgson has looked over and stopped, or rather pointed, this revise, which must be the one to print from.  He has also made some suggestions, with most of which I have complied, as he has always, for these ten years, been a very sincere, and by no means (at times) flattering critic of mine. He likes it (you will think flatteringly, in this instance) better than ‘The Giaour’, but doubts (and so do I) its being so popular; but, contrary to some others, advises a separate publication.  On this we can easily decide.  I confess I like the double form better.  Hodgson says, it is better versified than any of the others; which is odd, if true, as it has cost me less time (though more hours at a time) than any attempt I ever made.

Yours ever, B.

P.S.—­Do attend to the punctuation:  I can’t, for I don’t know a comma—­at least where to place one.

That Tory of a printer has omitted two lines of the opening, and perhaps more, which were in the MS. Will you, pray, give him a hint of accuracy?  I have reinserted the 2, but they were in the manuscript, I can swear.

353.—­To John Murray.

November 17, 1813.

My Dear Sir,—­That you and I may distinctly understand each other on a subject, which, like “the dreadful reckoning when men smile no more,” [1] makes conversation not very pleasant, I think it as well to write a few lines on the topic.—­Before I left town for Yorkshire, you said that you were ready and willing to give five hundred guineas for the copyright of ‘The Giaour’; and my answer was—­from which I do not mean to recede—­that we would discuss the point at Christmas.  The new story may or may not succeed; the probability, under present circumstances, seems to be, that it may at least pay its expences—­but even that remains to be proved, and till it is proved one way or the other, we will say nothing about it.  Thus then be it:  I will postpone all arrangement about it, and ‘The Giaour’ also, till Easter, 1814; and you shall then, according to your own notions of fairness, make your own offer for the two.  At the same time, I do not rate the last in my own estimation at half ‘The Giaour’; and according to your own notions of its worth and its success within the time mentioned, be the addition or deduction to or from whatever sum may be your proposal for the first, which has already had its success [2].

My account with you since my last payment (which I believe cleared it off within five pounds) I presume has not much increased—­but whatever it is have the goodness to send it to me—­that I may at least meet you on even terms.

The pictures of Phillips I consider as mine, all three; and the one (not the Arnaut) of the two best is much at your service, if you will accept it as a present, from Yours very truly, BIRON.

P.S.—­The expence of engraving from the miniature send me in my account, as it was destroyed by my desire; and have the goodness to burn that detestable print from it immediately.

[Footnote 1:  ‘The What d’ye call’t?’ by John Gay (act ii. sc. 9): 

    “So comes a reckoning when the banquet’s o’er,
     The dreadful reckoning, and men smile no more.”]

[Footnote 2:  Murray replies, November 18, 1813,

“I restore the ‘Giaour’ to your Lordship entirely, and for ‘it’, the ‘Bride of Abydos’, and the miscellaneous poems intended to fill up the volume of the small edition, I beg leave to offer you the sum of One Thousand Guineas, and I shall be happy if you perceive that my estimation of your talents in my character of a man of business is not much under my admiration of them as a man.”]

354.—­To John Murray.

November 20, 1813.

More work for the Row.  I am doing my best to beat “The Giaour”—­no difficult task for any one but the author.  Yours truly, B.

355.—­To John Murray.

November 22, 1813.

DEAR SIR,—­I have no time to cross-investigate, but I believe and hope all is right.  I care less than you will believe about its success, but I can’t survive a single misprint; it choaks me to see words misused by the Printers.  Pray look over, in case of some eyesore escaping me.  Ever yours, B.

P.S.—­Send the earliest copies to Mr. Frere, Mr. Canning, Mr. Heber, Mr. Gifford, Lord Holland, Lady Melbourne (Whitehall), Lady C. L. (Brocket), Mr. Hodgson (Cambridge), Mr. Merivale, Mr. Ward, from the author.

356.—­To John Murray.

November 23, 1813.

DEAR SIR,—­You wanted some reflections, and I send you per Selim (see his speech in Canto 2d, page 46.), eighteen lines in decent couplets, of a pensive, if not an ethical tendency.  One more revise—­poz. the last, if decently done—­at any rate the penultimate.  Mr. Canning’s approbation (if he did approve) I need not say makes me proud [1].

As to printing, print as you will and how you will—­by itself, if you like; but let me have a few copies in sheets.

Ever yours,

B.

[Footnote 1:  Canning wrote the following note to Murray: 

“I received the books, and, among them, ‘The Bride of Abydos’.  It is very, very beautiful.  Lord Byron (when I met him, one day, at dinner at Mr. Ward’s) was so kind as to promise to give me a copy of it.  I mention this, not to save my purchase, but because I should be really flattered by the present.  I can now say that I have read enough of Mad. de Staël to be highly pleased and instructed by her.  The second volume delights me particularly.  I have not yet finished the third, but am taking it with me on my journey to Liverpool.”]

357.—­To John Murray.

November 24, 1813.

You must pardon me once more, as it is all for your good:  it must be thus: 

  He makes a Solitude, and calls it Peace.

“Makes” is closer to the passage of Tacitus [1], from which the line is taken, and is, besides, a stronger word than “leaves.”

  Mark where his carnage and his conquests cease—­
  He makes a Solitude, and calls it—­peace.

You will perceive that the sense is now clearer, the “He” refers to “Man” in the preceding couplet.

Yours ever,

B.

[Footnote 1: 

  “Solitudinem faciunt—­pacem appellant.”

Tacitus, ‘Agricola’, 30.]

358.—­To John Murray.

November 27, 1813.

Dear Sir,—­If you look over this carefully by the last proof with my corrections, it is probably right; this you can do as well or better;—­I have not now time.  The copies I mentioned to be sent to different friends last night, I should wish to be made up with the new Giaours, if it also is ready.  If not, send ‘The Giaour’ afterwards.

The ‘Morning Post’ says I am the author of ‘Nourjahad’ [1]!!

This comes of lending the drawings for their dresses; but it is not worth a formal contradiction.  Besides, the criticisms on the supposition will, some of them, be quite amusing and furious.  The Orientalism—­which I hear is very splendid—­of the Melodrame (whosever it is, and I am sure I don’t know) is as good as an Advertisement for your Eastern Stories, by filling their heads with glitter.  Yours ever, B.

P.S.—­You will of course say the truth, that I am not the Melo-dramatist—­if any one charges me in your presence with the performance.

[Footnote 1:  The same charge is made in the ‘Satirist’ (vol. xiii. p. 508).  ‘Illusion, or the Trances of Nourjahad’, was acted at Drury Lane, November 25, 1813.  It is described by Genest (’The English Stage’, vol. viii. p. 403) as “a Melo-dramatic spectacle in three acts by an anonymous author.”  “Nourjahad” was acted by Elliston; “Mandane,” his wife, by Mrs. Horn.]

359.—­To John Murray.

November 28, 1813.

Dear Sir,—­Send another copy (if not too much of a request) to Lady Holland of the Journal [1], in my name, when you receive this; it is for Earl Grey—­and I will relinquish my own.  Also to Mr. Sharpe, Lady Holland, and Lady Caroline Lamb, copies of The Bride, as soon as convenient.  Ever yours, BIRON.

P.S.—­Mr. W. and myself still continue our purpose; but I shall not trouble you on any arrangement on the score of The Giaour and The Bride till our return,—­or, at any rate, before May, 1814,—­that is, six months from hence:  and before that time you will be able to ascertain how far your offer may be a losing one:  if so, you can deduct proportionably; and if not, I shall not at any rate allow you to go higher than your present proposal, which is very handsome, and more than fair.

I have had—­but this must be entre nous—­a very kind note, on the subject of The Bride, from Sir James Mackintosh, and an invitation to go there this evening, which it is now too late to accept [2].

[Footnote 1:  The Rev. John Eagles (1783-1855), scholar, artist, and contributor (1831-55) to ‘Blackwood’s Magazine’, edited ’The Journal of Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman’, which Murray published in 1815.]

[Footnote 2: 

  “Lord Byron is the author of the day; six thousand of his ’Bride of
  Abydos’ have been sold within a month.”

Sir James Mackintosh (’Life’, vol. ii. p. 271).]

360.—­To John Murray.

November 29, 1813.

Sunday—­Monday morning—­three o’clock—­in my doublet and
hose,—­swearing.

Dear Sir,—­I send you in time an Errata page, containing an omission of mine which must be thus added, as it is too late for insertion in the text.  The passage is an imitation altogether from Medea in Ovid, and is incomplete without these two lines.  Pray let this be done, and directly; it is necessary, will add one page to your book(-making), and can do no harm, and is yet in time for the public.  Answer me, thou Oracle, in the affirmative.  You can send the loose pages to those who have copies already, if they like; but certainly to all the Critical copyholders.

Ever yours, BIRON.

P.S.—­I have got out of my bed (in which, however, I could not sleep, whether I had amended this or not), and so good morning.  I am trying whether De l’Allemagne will act as an opiate, but I doubt it.

[Footnote 1:  ‘The Bride of Abydos’, Canto II. stanza xx.  The lines were: 

  “Then, if my lip once murmurs, it must be
  No sigh for Safety, but a prayer for thee.”]

361.—­To John Murray.

November 29, 1813.

“You have looked at it!” to much purpose, to allow so stupid a blunder to stand; it is not “courage” but “carnage;” and if you don’t want me to cut my own throat, see it altered.

I am very sorry to hear of the fall of Dresden.

362.—­To John Murray.

Nov. 29, 1813, Monday.

Dear Sir,—­You will act as you please upon that point; but whether I go or stay, I shall not say another word on the subject till May—­nor then, unless quite convenient to yourself.  I have many things I wish to leave to your care, principally papers.  The vases need not be now sent, as Mr. W. is gone to Scotland.  You are right about the Er[rata] page; place it at the beginning.  Mr. Perry is a little premature in his compliments [1]:  these may do harm by exciting expectation, and I think we ought to be above it—­though I see the next paragraph is on the ‘Journal’ [2], which makes me suspect you as the author of both.

Would it not have been as well to have said in 2 cantos in the advertisement? they will else think of fragments, a species of composition very well for once, like one ruin in a view; but one would not build a town of them.  ‘The Bride’, such as it is, is my first entire composition of any length (except the Satire, and be damned to it), for ‘The Giaour’ is but a string of passages, and ‘Childe Harold’ is, and I rather think always will be, unconcluded.  I return Mr. Hay’s note, with thanks to him and you.

There have been some epigrams on Mr. W[ard]:  one I see to-day [3].

The first I did not see, but heard yesterday.  The second seems very bad and Mr. P[erry] has placed it over your puff.  I only hope that Mr. W. does not believe that I had any connection with either.  The Regent is the only person on whom I ever expectorated an epigram, or ever should; and even if I were disposed that way, I like and value Mr. W. too well to allow my politics to contract into spleen, or to admire any thing intended to annoy him or his.  You need not take the trouble to answer this, as I shall see you in the course of the afternoon.

Yours very truly, B.

P.S.—­I have said this much about the epigrams, because I live so much in the opposite camp, and, from my post as an Engineer, might be suspected as the flinger of these hand Grenadoes; but with a worthy foe I am all for open war, and not this bush-fighting, and have [not] had, nor will have, any thing to do with it.  I do not know the author.

[Footnote 1:  In the ‘Morning Chronicle’, November 29, 1813, appeared the following paragraph: 

  “Lord Byron’s muse is extremely fruitful.  He has another poem coming
  out, entitled ‘The Bride of Abydos’, which is spoken of in terms of
  the highest encomium.”]

[Footnote 2:  ‘Journal of Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman.’]

[Footnote 3: 

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

363.—­To John Murray.

Tuesday evening, Nov. 30, 1813.

Dear Sir,—­For the sake of correctness, particularly in an Errata page, the alteration of the couplet I have just sent (half an hour ago) must take place, in spite of delay or cancel; let me see the proof early to-morrow.  I found out murmur to be a neuter verb, and have been obliged to alter the line so as to make it a substantive, thus: 

  The deepest murmur of this life shall be
  No sigh for Safety, but a prayer for thee!

Don’t send the copies to the country till this is all right.

Yours,
B.

364.—­To Thomas Moore.

November 30, 1813.

Since I last wrote to you, much has occurred, good, bad, and indifferent,—­not to 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 [1] 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,” [2] 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 [3]—­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;” [4] 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.

[Footnote 1:  Moore wrote to Byron in 1813 an undated letter, in which the following passage occurs: 

“I am sorry I must wait till ‘we are veterans’ before you will open to me ’the story of your wandering life, wherein you find more hours due to repentance ... than time hath told you yet.’  Is it so with you, or are you, like me, reprobate enough to look back with complacency on what you have done?  I suppose repentance must bring up the rear with us all; but at present I should say with old Fontenelle, Si je recommençais ma carrière, je ferais tout ce que j’ai fait.”]

[Footnote 2:  Colley Cibber’s ‘Richard III’, act v. sc. 3: 

  “Conscience, avaunt!  Richard’s himself again.”]

[Footnote 3:  ‘The Bride of Abydos’ was published December, 1813.]

[Footnote 4: 

  “Horrible imaginings.”

‘Macbeth’, act i. sc. 3.]

365.—­To Francis Hodgson.

Nov’r—­Dec’r 1st, 1813.

I have just heard that Knapp is acquainted with what I was but too happy in being enabled to do for you [1].

Now, my dear Hn., you, or Drury, must have told this, for, upon my own honour, not even to Scrope, nor to one soul, (Drury knew it before) have I said one syllable of the matter.  So don’t be out of humour with me about it, but you can’t be more so than I am.  I am, however, glad of one thing; if you ever conceived it to be in the least an obligation, this disclosure most fairly and fully releases you from it: 

  “To John I owe some obligation,
    But John unluckily thinks fit
  To publish it to all the nation,
    So John and I are more than quit.”

And so there’s an end of the matter.

Ward wavers a little about the Dutch, till matters are more sedative, and the French more sedentary.

The ‘Bride’ will blush upon you in a day or two; there is much, at least a little addition.  I am happy to say that Frere and Heber, and some other “good men and true,” have been kind enough to adopt the same opinion that you did.

Pray write when you like, and believe me,

Ever yours,

BYRON.

P.S.—­Murray has offered me a thousand guineas for the two (’Giaour’ and ’Bride’), and told M’e. de Stael that he had paid them to me!!  I should be glad to be able to tell her so too.  But the truth is, he would; but I thought the fair way was to decline it till May, and, at the end of 6 months, he can safely say whether he can afford it or not—­without running any risk by Speculation.  If he paid them now and lost by it, it would be hard.  If he gains, it will be time enough when he has already funded his profits.  But he needed not have told “la Baronne” such a devil of an uncalled for piece of—­premature truth, perhaps—­but, nevertheless, a lie in the mean time.

[Footnote 1:  Hodgson, now engaged to Miss Tayler, was anxious to clear off his father’s liabilities.  Byron gave him from first to last the sum of £1500 for the purpose.  Hodgson, in a letter to his uncle, thus describes the gift (’Memoir of Rev. F. Hodgson’, vol. i. pp. 268, 269): 

“My noble-hearted friend, Lord Byron, after many offers of a similar kind, which I felt bound to refuse, has irresistibly in my present circumstances ... volunteered to pay all my debts, and within a few pounds it is done!  Oh, if you knew (but you do know) the exultation of heart, aye, and of head too, I feel at being free from these depressing embarrassments, you would, as I do, bless my dearest friend and brother Byron.”]

366.—­To John Murray.

Dec. 2, 1813.

Dear Sir,—­When you can, let the couplet enclosed be inserted either in the page, or in the Errata page.  I trust it is in time for some of the copies.  This alteration is in the same part—­the page but one before the last correction sent.

Yours, etc.,

B.

P.S.—­I am afraid, from all I hear, that people are rather inordinate in their expectations, which is very unlucky, but cannot now be helped.  This comes of Mr. Perry and one’s wise friends; but do not you wind your hopes of success to the same pitch, for fear of accidents, and I can assure you that my philosophy will stand the test very fairly; and I have done every thing to ensure you, at all events, from positive loss, which will be some satisfaction to both.

367.—­To Leigh Hunt.

4, Bennet St., Dec. 2, 1813.

My dear Sir,—­Few things could be more welcome than your note, and on Saturday morning I will avail myself of your permission to thank you for it in person.  My time has not been passed, since we met, either profitably or agreeably.  A very short period after my last visit, an incident occurred with which, I fear, you are not unacquainted, as report, in many mouths and more than one paper, was busy with the topic.  That, naturally, gave me much uneasiness.  Then I nearly incurred a lawsuit on the sale of an estate; but that is now arranged:  next—­but why should I go on with a series of selfish and silly details?  I merely wish to assure you that it was not the frivolous forgetfulness of a mind, occupied by what is called pleasure (not in the true sense of Epicurus), that kept me away; but a perception of my, then, unfitness to share the society of those whom I value and wish not to displease.  I hate being larmoyant, and making a serious face among those who are cheerful.

It is my wish that our acquaintance, or, if you please to accept it, friendship, may be permanent.  I have been lucky enough to preserve some friends from a very early period, and I hope, as I do not (at least now) select them lightly, I shall not lose them capriciously.  I have a thorough esteem for that independence of spirit [1] which you have maintained with sterling talent, and at the expense of some suffering.  You have not, I trust, abandoned the poem you were composing, when Moore and I partook of your hospitality in the summer.  I hope a time will come when he and I may be able to repay you in kind for the latter—­for the rhyme, at least in quantity, you are in arrear to both.

Believe me, very truly and affectionately yours,

Byron.

[Footnote 1:  The following is Leigh Hunt’s answer: 

“My dear Lord,—­I need not tell you how much your second letter has gratified me, for I am apt to speak as sincerely as I think (you must suffer me to talk in this way after what you have been kind enough to say of my independence), and it always rejoices me to find that those whom I wish to regard will take me at my word.  But I shall grow egotistical upon the strength of your Lordship’s good opinion.  I shall be heartily glad to see you on Saturday morning, and perhaps shall prevail upon you to take a luncheon with us at our dinner-time(3).  The nature of your letter would have brought upon you a long answer, filled perhaps with an enthusiasm that might have made you smile; but I am keeping your servant in the cold, and so, among other good offices, you see what he has done for you.  However, I would not make a light thing of so good a matter as I mean my enthusiasm to be, and intend, before I have done, that you shall have as sound a regard for it, as I have for the feelings on your Lordship’s part that have called it forth.

  “Yours, my dear Lord, most sincerely and cordially,

  “Leigh Hunt.

  “Surrey Jail, 2’d Dec’r., 1813.”]

368.—­To John Murray.

Dec. 3, 1813.

I send you a scratch or two, the which heal.  The Christian Observer [1] is very savage, but certainly uncommonly well written—­and quite uncomfortable at the naughtiness of book and author.  I rather suspect you won’t much like the present to be more moral, if it is to share also the usual fate of your virtuous volumes.

Let me see a proof of the six before incorporation.

[Footnote 1:  The ‘Christian Observer’ for November, 1813 (pp. 731-737) felt compelled to review ‘The Giaour’, because of its extraordinary popularity; but it found that some of the passages savoured “too much of Newgate and Bedlam for our expurgated pages.”  It acknowledged one obligation to Byron.

“He never attempts to deceive the world by representing the profligate as happy….  And his testimony is of the more value, as his situation in life must have permitted him to see the experiment tried under the most favourable circumstances.  He has probably seen more than one example of young men of high birth, talents, and expectancies, ... sink under the burden of unsubdued tempers, licentious alliances, and ennervating indulgence….  He has seen all this; nay, perhaps—­But we check our pen,” etc., etc.]

369.—­To John Murray.

Dec. 3, 1813.

My dear Sir,—­Look out the Encyclopedia article Mecca whether it is there or at Medina the Prophet is entombed, if at Medina the first lines of my alteration must run: 

  Blest as the call which from Medina’s dome
  Invites Devotion to her Prophet’s tomb, etc.

If at “Mecca” the lines may stand as before.  Page 45, C°. 2nd, ’Bride of Abydos’.  Yours, B.

You will find this out either by Article Mecca, Medina or Mahommed.  I have no book of reference by me.

370.—­To John Murray.

[No date.]

Did you look out? is it Medina or Mecca that contains the holy Sepulchre? don’t make me blaspheme by your negligence.  I have no books of reference or I would save you the trouble.  I blush as a good Mussulman to have confused the point.  Yours, B.

371.—­To John Murray.

Dec. 4, 1813.

Dear Sir,—­I have redde through your Persian Tales [1], and have taken the liberty of making some remarks on the blank pages.  There are many beautiful passages, and an interesting story; and I cannot give you a stronger proof that such is my opinion, than by the date of the hour—­two o’clock,—­till which it has kept me awake without a yawn.

The conclusion is not quite correct in costume:  there is no Mussulman suicide on record—­at least for love.  But this matters not.  The tale must have been written by some one who has been on the spot, and I wish him, and he deserves, success.  Will you apologise to the author for the liberties I have taken with his MS.?  Had I been less awake to, and interested in, his theme, I had been less obtrusive; but you know I always take this in good part, and I hope he will.  It is difficult to say what will succeed, and still more to pronounce what will not. I am at this moment in that uncertainty (on your own score); and it is no small proof of the author’s powers to be able to charm and fix a mind’s attention on similar subjects and climates in such a predicament.  That he may have the same effect upon all his readers is very sincerely the wish, and hardly the doubt, of

Yours truly, B.

[Footnote 1:  Henry Gally Knight (1786-1846), who was with Byron at Trinity, Cambridge, and afterwards distinguished himself by his architectural writings (e.g.  ‘The Normans in Sicily,’ 1838), began his literary career with ‘Ilderim, a Syrian Tale’ (1816).  ’Phrosyne, a Grecian Tale’; ‘Alashtar, an Arabian Tale’ (1817), was followed, after a considerable interval, by ‘Eastern Sketches’ (about 1829-30).  If the manuscript of the first-mentioned volume is that to which Byron refers, he seems to have changed his mind as to its merits (March 25, 1817): 

“I tried at ‘Ilderim;’
Ahem!”]

372.—­To John Murray.

Monday evening, Dec. 6, 1813.

Dear Sir,—­It is all very well, except that the lines are not numbered properly, and a diabolical mistake, page 67., which must be corrected with the pen, if no other way remains; it is the omission of “not” before “disagreeable” in the note on the amber rosary.  This is really horrible, and nearly as bad as the stumble of mine at the Threshold—­I mean the misnomer of bride.  Pray do not let a copy go without the “not;” it is nonsense, and worse than nonsense, as it now stands.  I wish the printer was saddled with a vampire.

Yours ever, B.

P.S.—­It is still hath instead of have in page 20.; never was any one so misused as I am by your Devils of printers.

P.S.—­I hope and trust the “not” was inserted in the first Edition.  We must have something—­any thing—­to set it right.  It is enough to answer for one’s own bulls, without other people’s.

373.—­To Thomas 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 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 Aston, 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 comes, 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 [1].

Mine is the work of a week, written, why I have 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 mysteries.”  The only advantage I have is 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 describe—­I mean only as to accuracy—­because I drew it from recollection.

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.” [2]

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, peut-être, plus complètement le poëte du coeur et le poëte des femmes.  Les critiques lui reprochent de n’avoir représenté le monde ní tel qu’il est, ni tel qu’il doit être; mais les femmes répondent qu’il l’a représenté tel qu’elles le désirent.”

I should have thought Sismondi [3] 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 [4].

[Footnote 1: 

“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 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 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 aim at vigour and strong feeling after ‘you’ is hopeless;—­that region “was made for Cæsar.”’”

(Moore).]

[Footnote 2:  ‘Macbeth’, act i. sc. 7.]

[Footnote 3:  ‘De la Littérature du Midi de l’Europe’, ed. 1813, tom. ii. p. 436.]

[Footnote 4:  Grimm (’Correspondance Littéraire’, ed. 1813, part iii. tom ii. p. 126) says of Mlle. de Sommery, who died of apoplexy in 1790,

  “Que de gens ont la réputation d’être méchans, avec lesquels on serait
  trop heureux de passer sa vie.”

The ‘Biographie Universelle’ says of her,

“Elle avait du talent pour écrire; mais elle ne l’exerça que fort tard ….  Le premier livre qu’elle publia, n’étant plus très jeune, fut un recueil de pensées détachées, dédié aux mânes de Saurin, qu’elle intitula ‘Doutes sur differentes Opinions reçues dans la Societé’.  Ce recueil eut un véritable succés.”

Mlle. de Sommery also published, besides the ‘Doutes’ (1782), ’Lettres de Madame la Comtesse de L. à M. le Comte de R’. (1785); ’Lettres de Mlle. de Tourville à Madame la Comtesse de Lénoncourt’ (1788); ‘L’Oreille, conte Asiatique’ (1789).]

374.—­To John Galt [1].

Dec. 11, 1813.

My dear Galt,—­There was no offence—­there could be none.  I thought it by no means impossible that we might have hit on something similar, particularly as you are a dramatist, and was anxious to assure you of the truth, viz., that I had not wittingly seized upon plot, sentiment, or incident; and I am very glad that I have not in any respect trenched upon your subjects.  Something still more singular is, that the first part, where you have found a coincidence in some events within your observations on life, was drawn from observations of mine also, and I meant to have gone on with the story, but on second thoughts, I thought myself two centuries at least too late for the subject; which, though admitting of very powerful feeling and description, yet is not adapted for this age, at least this country, though the finest works of the Greeks, one of Schiller’s and Alfieri’s in modern times, besides several of our old (and best) dramatists, have been grounded on incidents of a similar cast.  I therefore altered it as you perceive, and in so doing have weakened the whole, by interrupting the train of thought:  and in composition I do not think second thoughts are the best, though second expressions may improve the first ideas.

I do not know how other men feel towards those they have met abroad, but to me there seems a kind of tie established between all who have met together in a foreign country, as if we had met in a state of pre-existence, and were talking over a life that has ceased:  but I always look forward to renewing my travels; and though you, I think, are now stationary, if I can at all forward your pursuits there as well as here, I shall be truly glad in the opportunity.

Ever yours very sincerely, B.

P.S.—­I leave town for a day or two on Monday, but after that I am always at home, and happy to see you till half-past two.

[Footnote 1:  For John Galt, see ‘Letters’, vol. i. p. 243 [Footnote 1 of Letter 130], and vol. ii. p. 101, ‘note’ 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 255].  Galt wrote to Byron in 1813, pointing out that “there was a remarkable coincidence in the story” (of ‘The Bride of Abydos’) “with a matter in which I had been interested” (’Life of Byron’, p. 180, ed. 1830).  Byron, imagining himself charged with plagiarism, wrote a somewhat angry reply, to which Gait answered by stating that the coincidence was not one of ideas, sentiment, or story, but of real fact.  He received the above answer (’Life of Byron’, pp. 181, 182).

On this poem Byron seems to have been particularly sensitive.  He is accused of borrowing the opening lines from Mignon’s song in Goethe’s ‘Wilhelm Meister’: 

  “Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen blühn?”

Cyrus Redding (’Yesterday and To-day’, vol. ii. pp. 14, 15) suggests that Byron used the translation of the poem which he himself had made and published in 1812 or 1813.

Byron was also charged with pilfering them from Madame de Staël.

“Do you know de Staël’s lines?” he asked Lady Blessington (’Conversations’, pp. 326, 327); “for if I am a thief, she must be the plundered, as I don’t read German and do French:  yet I could almost swear that I never saw her verses when I wrote mine, nor do I even now remember them.  I think the first began with ‘Cette terre,’ etc., etc.; but the rest I forget.  As you have a good memory, perhaps you would repeat them.”

  “I did so,” says Lady Blessington, “and they are as follows: 

    “’Cette terre, où les myrtes fleurissent,
    Où les rayons des cieux tombent avec amour,
    Où des sons enchanteurs dans les airs retentissent,
    Où la plus douce nuit succéde au plus beau jour,’ etc.”]

375.—­To John Murray.

Decr. y’r 14th, 1813.

Deare Sir,—­Send y’e E’r of ye new R’w a copy as he hath had y’e trouble of two walks on y’t acct.

As to the man of the Satirist—­I hope you have too much spirit to allow a single Sheet to be offered as a peace offering to him or any one.  If you do, expect never to be forgiven by me—­if he is not personal he is quite welcome to his opinion—­and if he is, I have my own remedy.

Send a copy double to Dr. Clarke (y’e traveller) Cambrigge by y’e first opportunitie—­and let me see you in y’e morninge y’t I may mention certain thinges y’e which require sundrie though slight alterations.

Sir, your Servitor, Biroñ

376.—­To Thomas Ashe [1].

4, Bennet Street, St. James’s, Dec. 14, 1813.

Sir,—­I leave town for a few days to-morrow.  On my return, I will answer your letter more at length.

Whatever may be your situation, I cannot but commend your resolution to abjure and abandon the publication and composition of works such as those to which you have alluded.  Depend upon it they amuse few, disgrace both reader and writer, and benefit none.  It will be my wish to assist you, as far as my limited means will admit, to break such a bondage.  In your answer, inform me what sum you think would enable you to extricate yourself from the hands of your employers, and to regain, at least, temporary independence, and I shall be glad to contribute my mite towards it.  At present, I must conclude.  Your name is not unknown to me, and I regret, for your own sake, that you have ever lent it to the works you mention.  In saying this, I merely repeat your own words in your letter to me, and have no wish whatever to say a single syllable that may appear to insult your misfortunes.  If I have, excuse me; it is unintentional.

Yours, etc.,

BYRON.

[Footnote 1:  Thomas Ashe (1770-1835) had already written books of travel in North and South America, and two novels—­’The Spirit of “The Book’”(1811), and ‘The Liberal Critic, or Henry Percy’ (1812).  He was a man of more ability than character, but possessed little of either.  His ‘Memoirs’ (1815) describe his literary undertakings, one at least of which was of a blackmailing kind, and are interspersed with protestations of his desire for independence, and of regrets for the wretched stuff that dropped from his pen.

His first novel, ‘The Spirit of “The Book,”’ gained some success from its subject.  In 1806-7 Lady Douglas brought certain charges against the Princess of Wales, which were answered on her behalf by Spencer Perceval.  The extraordinary secrecy with which this defence, called “The Book,” was printed, and its complete suppression, excited curiosity, which was increased by the following advertisement in the ‘Times’ for March 27, 1809: 

“’A Book’—­Any Person having in their possession a COPY of a CERTAIN BOOK, printed by Mr. Edwards, in 1807, but ‘never published’, with W. Lindsell’s Name as the Seller of the same on the title page, and will bring it to W. Lindsell, Bookseller, Wimpole-Street, will receive a handsome gratuity.”

The subject-matter of this book, then unknown to the public, Ashe professes to embody in ’The Spirit of “The Book;” or, Memoirs of Caroline, Princess of Hasburgh, a Political and Amatory Romance’ (3 vols., 1811).  The letters, which purport to be written from Caroline to Charlotte, and contain (vol. ii. pp. 152-181) an attack on the Lady Jersey, who attended the princess, are absolutely dull, and scarcely even indecent.

Ashe’s ‘Memoirs and Confessions’ (3 vols., 1815) are dedicated to the Duke of Northumberland and to Byron, to whom, in a preface written at Havre, he acknowledges his “transcendent obligations.”]

377.—­To Professor Clarke [1].

Dec. 15, 1813.

Your very kind letter is the more agreeable, because, setting aside talents, judgment, and the laudari a laudato, etc., you have been on the spot; you have seen and described more of the East than any of your predecessors—­I need not say how ably and successfully; and (excuse the bathos) you are one of the very few men who can pronounce how far my costume (to use an affected but expressive word) is correct.  As to poesy, that is, as “men, gods, and columns,” please to decide upon it; but I am sure that I am anxious to have an observer’s, particularly a famous observer’s, testimony on the fidelity of my manners and dresses; and, as far as memory and an oriental twist in my imagination have permitted, it has been my endeavour to present to the Franks, a sketch of that of which you have and will present them a complete picture.  It was with this notion, that I felt compelled to make my hero and heroine relatives, as you well know that none else could there obtain that degree of intercourse leading to genuine affection; I had nearly made them rather too much akin to each other; and though the wild passions of the East, and some great examples in Alfieri, Ford, and Schiller (to stop short of antiquity), might have pleaded in favour of a copyist, yet the time and the north (not Frederic, but our climate) induced me to alter their consanguinity and confine them to cousinship.  I also wished to try my hand on a female character in Zuleika, and have endeavoured, as far as the grossness of our masculine ideas will allow, to preserve her purity without impairing the ardour of her attachment.

As to criticism, I have been reviewed about a hundred and fifty times—­praised and abused.  I will not say that I am become indifferent to either eulogy or condemnation, but for some years at least I have felt grateful for the former, and have never attempted to answer the latter.  For success equal to the first efforts, I had and have no hope; the novelty was over, and the “Bride,” like all other brides, must suffer or rejoice for and with her husband.  By the bye, I have used “bride” Turkishly, as affianced, not married; and so far it is an English bull, which, I trust, will be at least a comfort to all Hibernians not bigotted to monopoly.  You are good enough to mention your quotations in your third volume.  I shall not only be indebted to it for a renewal of the high gratification received from the two first, but for preserving my relics embalmed in your own spices, and ensuring me readers to whom I could not otherwise have aspired.

I called on you, as bounden by duty and inclination, when last in your neighbourhood; but I shall always take my chance; you surely would not have me inflict upon you a formal annunciation; I am proud of your friendship, but not so fond of myself as to break in upon your better avocations.  I trust that Mrs. Clarke is well; I have never had the honour of presentation, but I have heard so much of her in many quarters, that any notice she is pleased to take of my productions is not less gratifying than my thanks are sincere, both to her and you; by all accounts I may safely congratulate you on the possession of “a bride” whose mental and personal accomplishments are more than poetical.

P. S.—­Murray has sent, or will send, a double copy of the Bride and Giaour; in the last one, some lengthy additions; pray accept them, according to old custom, “from the author” to one of his better brethren.  Your Persian, or any memorial, will be a most agreeable, and it is my fault if not an useful present.  I trust your third will be out before I sail next month; can I say or do anything for you in the Levant?  I am now in all the agonies of equipment, and full of schemes, some impracticable, and most of them improbable; but I mean to fly “freely to the green earth’s end,” [2] though not quite so fast as Milton´s sprite.

P. S. 2nd.—­I have so many things to say.—­I want to show you Lord Sligo’s letter to me detailing, as he heard them on the spot, the Athenian account of our adventure (a personal one), which certainly first suggested to me the story of The Giaour.  It was a strange and not a very long story, and his report of the reports (he arrived just after my departure, and I did not know till last summer that he knew anything of the matter) is not very far from the truth.  Don’t be alarmed.  There was nothing that led further than to the water’s edge; but one part (as is often the case in life) was more singular than any of the Giaour’s adventures.  I never have, and never should have, alluded to it on my own authority, from respect to the ancient proverb on Travellers.

[Footnote 1:  Dr. Clark, in October, 1814, was a candidate for the Professorship of Anatomy, and Byron went to Cambridge to vote for his friend.  Writing to Miss Tayler, Hodgson (’Memoir’, vol. i. p. 292) adds a postscript: 

  “I open my letter to say that when Lord Byron went to give his vote
  just now in the Senate House, the young men burst out into the most
  rapturous applause.”

The next day he writes again: 

“I should add that as I was going to vote I met him coming away, and presently saw that something had happened, by his extreme paleness and agitation.  Dr. Clark, who was with him, told me the cause, and I returned with B. to my room.  There I begged him to sit down and write a letter and communicate this event, which he did not feel up to, but wished ‘I’ would.  So down I sate, and commenced my acquaintance with Miss Milbanke by writing her an account of this most pleasing event, which, although nothing at Oxford, is here very unusual indeed.”

The following was Miss Milbanke’s answer (’ibid’., pp. 296, 297), dated, “Seaham, November 25, 1814:” 

“Dear Sir,—­It will be easier for you to imagine than for me to express the pleasure which your very kind letter has given me.  Not only on account of its gratifying intelligence, but also as introductory to an acquaintance which I have been taught to value, and have sincerely desired.  Allow me to consider Lord Byron’s friend as not ‘a stranger,’ and accept, with my sincerest thanks, my best wishes for your own happiness.

  “I am, dear sir, your faithful servant,

  “A.  I. MlLBANKE.” ]

[Footnote 2:  The Spirit in Milton´s ‘Comus, a Mask’ (lines 1012, 1013), says: 

  “I can fly, or I can run
  Quickly to the green earth´s end.”]

378.—­To Leigh Hunt.

Dec. 22, 1813.

My Dear Sir,—­I am indeed “in your debt,”—­and, what is still worse, am obliged to follow royal example (he has just apprised his creditors that they must wait till the next meeting), and intreat your indulgence for, I hope, a very short time.  The nearest relation and almost the only friend I possess, has been in London for a week, and leaves it tomorrow with me for her own residence.  I return immediately; but we meet so seldom, and are so minuted when we meet at all, that I give up all engagements till now, without reluctance.  On my return, I must see you to console myself for my past disappointment.  I should feel highly honoured in Mr. B.’s permission to make his acquaintance, and there you are in my debt; for it is a promise of last summer which I still hope to see performed.  Yesterday I had a letter from Moore; you have probably heard from him lately; but if not, you will be glad to learn that he is the same in heart, head, and health.

379.—­To John Murray.

December 27, 1813.

Lord Holland is laid up with the gout, and would feel very much obliged if you could obtain, and send as soon as possible, Madame D’Arblay’s (or even Miss Edgeworth’s) new work.  I know they are not out; but it is perhaps possible for your Majesty to command what we cannot with much suing purchase, as yet.  I need not say that when you are able or willing to confer the same favour on me, I shall be obliged.  I would almost fall sick myself to get at Madame D’Arblay’s writings.

P.S.—­You were talking to-day of the American E’n of a certain unquenchable memorial of my younger days [1].  As it can’t be helped now, I own I have some curiosity to see a copy of transatlantic typography.  This you will perhaps obtain, and one for yourself; but I must beg that you will not import more, because, seriously, I do wish to have that thing forgotten as much as it has been forgiven.

If you send to the ‘Globe’ E’r, say that I want neither excuse nor contradiction, but merely a discontinuance of a most ill-grounded charge.  I never was consistent in any thing but my politics; and as my redemption depends on that solitary virtue, it is murder to carry away my last anchor.

[Footnote 1:  ’English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers’.]