Louise Muehlbach - "A Conspiracy of the Carbonari"

Will N. Harben - "Westerfelt"

Enos Herbert Glynne Roberts - "The Story of the 9th King's in France"

P. Chalmers Mitchell - "Thomas Henry Huxley; A Sketch Of His Life And Work"

Out in the Cold
The Inquisition, the Salem trials, the Red Scare: a survey of witch hunts over the past two millenniums.

Crucibles
Julia Glass’s new novel focuses on the complicated emotions — love, hate, envy, grief — that form between female siblings.

Twisted Sisters
Edmund White's capsule biography of Rimbaud, poetry's enfant terrible.

Thomas Moore - Life of Lord Byron, Vol. I. (of VI.)

T >> Thomas Moore >> Life of Lord Byron, Vol. I. (of VI.)




"On Monday I depart for London. I quit Cambridge with little regret,
because our _set_ are _vanished_, and my _musical protege_ before
mentioned has left the choir, and is stationed in a mercantile house
of considerable eminence in the metropolis. You may have heard me
observe he is exactly to an hour two years younger than myself. I
found him grown considerably, and, as you will suppose, very glad to
see his former _Patron_. He is nearly my height, very _thin_, very
fair complexion, dark eyes, and light locks. My opinion of his mind
you already know;--I hope I shall never have occasion to change it.
Every body here conceives me to be an _invalid_. The University at
present is very gay from the fetes of divers kinds. I supped out last
night, but eat (or ate) nothing, sipped a bottle of claret, went to
bed at two, and rose at eight. I have commenced early rising, and find
it agrees with me. The Masters and the Fellows all very _polite_, but
look a little _askance_--don't much admire _lampoons_--truth always
disagreeable.

"Write, and tell me how the inhabitants of your _Menagerie_ go _on_,
and if my publication goes _off_ well: do the quadrupeds _growl_?
Apropos, my bull-dog is deceased--'Flesh both of cur and man is
grass.' Address your answer to Cambridge. If I am gone, it will be
forwarded. Sad news just arrived--Russians beat--a bad set, eat
nothing but _oil_, consequently must melt before a _hard fire_. I get
awkward in my academic habiliments for want of practice. Got up in a
window to hear the oratorio at St. Mary's, popped down in the middle
of the _Messiah_, tore a _woeful_ rent in the back of my best black
silk gown, and damaged an egregious pair of breeches. Mem.--never
tumbled from a church window during service. Adieu, dear ----! do not
remember me to any body:--to _forget_ and be forgotten by the people
of Southwell is all I aspire to."


LETTER 14.

TO MISS ----.

"Trin. Coll. Camb. July 5. 1807.


"Since my last letter I have determined to reside _another year_ at
Granta, as my rooms, &c. &c. are finished in great style, several old
friends come up again, and many new acquaintances made; consequently my
inclination leads me forward, and I shall return to college in October if
still _alive_. My life here has been one continued routine of
dissipation--out at different places every day, engaged to more dinners,
&c. &c. than my _stay_ would permit me to fulfil. At this moment I write
with a bottle of claret in my _head_ and _tears_ in my _eyes_; for I have
just parted with my '_Cornelian_,' who spent the evening with me. As it
was our last interview, I postponed my engagement to devote the hours of
the _Sabbath_ to friendship:--Edleston and I have separated for the
present, and my mind is a chaos of hope and sorrow. To-morrow I set out
for London: you will address your answer to 'Gordon's Hotel, Albemarle
Street,' where I _sojourn_ during my visit to the metropolis.

"I rejoice to hear you are interested in my _protege_; he has been my
_almost constant_ associate since October, 1805, when I entered
Trinity College. His _voice_ first attracted my attention, his
_countenance_ fixed it, and his _manners_ attached me to him for ever.
He departs for a _mercantile house_ in _town_ in October, and we shall
probably not meet till the expiration of my minority, when I shall
leave to his decision either entering as a _partner_ through my
interest, or residing with me altogether. Of course he would in his
present frame of mind prefer the _latter_, but he may alter his
opinion previous to that period;--however, he shall have his choice. I
certainly love him more than any human being, and neither time nor
distance have had the least effect on my (in general) changeable
disposition. In short, we shall put _Lady E. Butler_ and _Miss
Ponsonby_ to the blush, _Pylades_ and _Orestes_ out of countenance,
and want nothing but a catastrophe like _Nisus_ and _Euryalus_, to
give _Jonathan_ and _David_ the 'go by.' He certainly is perhaps more
attached to _me_ than even I am in return. During the whole of my
residence at Cambridge we met every day, summer and winter, without
passing _one_ tiresome moment, and separated each time with
increasing reluctance. I hope you will one day see us together, he is
the only being I esteem, though I _like_ many.[73]

"The Marquis of Tavistock was down the other day; I supped with him at
his tutor's--entirely a Whig party. The opposition muster strong here
now, and Lord Hartington, the Duke of Leinster, &c. &c. are to join us
in October, so every thing will be _splendid_. The _music_ is all over
at present. Met with another '_accidency_'--upset a butter-boat in the
lap of a lady--look'd very _blue_--_spectators_ grinned--'curse
'em!' Apropos, sorry to say, been _drunk_ every day, and not quite
_sober_ yet--however, touch no meat, nothing but fish, soup, and
vegetables, consequently it does me no harm--sad dogs all the
_Cantabs_. Mem.--_we mean_ to reform next January. This place is a
_monotony of endless variety_--like it--hate Southwell. Has Ridge sold
well? or do the ancients demur? What ladies have bought?

"Saw a girl at St. Mary's the image of Anne ----, thought it was
her--all in the wrong--the lady stared, so did I--I _blushed_, so did
_not_ the lady,--sad thing--wish women had _more modesty_. Talking of
women, puts me in mind of my terrier Fanny--how is she? Got a
headache, must go to bed, up early in the morning to travel. My
_protege_ breakfasts with me; parting spoils my appetite--excepting
from Southwell. Mem. _I hate Southwell._

Yours, &c."


LETTER 15.

TO MISS ----.

"Gordon's Hotel, July 13, 1807.


"You write most excellent epistles--a fig for other correspondents,
with their nonsensical apologies for _'knowing nought about
it_,'--you send me a delightful budget. I am here in a perpetual
vortex of dissipation (very pleasant for all that), and, strange to
tell, I get thinner, being now below eleven stone considerably. Stay
in town a _month_, perhaps six weeks, trip into Essex, and then, as a
favour, _irradiate_ Southwell for three days with the light of my
countenance; but nothing shall ever make me _reside_ there again. I
positively return to Cambridge in October; we are to be uncommonly
gay, or in truth I should _cut_ the University. An extraordinary
circumstance occurred to me at Cambridge; a girl so very like ----
made her appearance, that nothing but the most _minute inspection_
could have undeceived me. I wish I had asked if _she_ had ever been at
H----.

"What the devil would Ridge have? is not fifty in a fortnight, before
the advertisements, a sufficient sale? I hear many of the London
booksellers have them, and Crosby has sent copies to the principal
watering places. Are they liked or not in Southwell?... I wish
Boatswain had _swallowed_ Damon! How is Bran? by the immortal gods,
Bran ought to be a _Count_ of the _Holy Roman Empire_.

"The intelligence of London cannot be interesting to you, who have
rusticated all your life--the annals of routs, riots, balls and
boxing-matches, cards and crim. cons., parliamentary discussion,
political details, masquerades, mechanics, Argyle Street Institution
and aquatic races, love and lotteries, Brookes's and Buonaparte,
opera-singers and oratorios, wine, women, wax-work, and
weather-cocks, can't accord with your _insulated_ ideas of decorum and
other _silly expressions_ not inserted in _our vocabulary_.

"Oh! Southwell, Southwell, how I rejoice to have left thee, and how I
curse the heavy hours I dragged along, for so many months, among the
Mohawks who inhabit your kraals!--However, one thing I do not regret,
which is having _pared off_ a sufficient quantity of flesh to enable
me to slip into 'an eel skin,' and vie with the _slim_ beaux of modern
times; though I am sorry to say, it seems to be the mode amongst
_gentlemen_ to grow _fat_, and I am told I am at least fourteen pound
below the fashion. However, I _decrease_ instead of enlarging, which
is extraordinary, as _violent_ exercise in London is impracticable;
but I attribute the phenomenon to our _evening squeezes_ at public and
private parties. I heard from Ridge this morning (the 14th, my letter
was begun yesterday): he says the poems go on as well as can be
wished; the seventy-five sent to town are circulated, and a demand for
fifty more complied with, the day he dated his epistle, though the
advertisements are not yet half published. Adieu.

"P.S. Lord Carlisle, on receiving my poems, sent, before he opened the
book, a tolerably handsome letter:--I have not heard from him since.
His opinions I neither know nor care about: if he is the least
insolent, I shall enrol him with _Butler_[74] and the other worthies.
He is in Yorkshire, poor man! and very ill! He said he had not had
time to read the contents, but thought it necessary to acknowledge the
receipt of the volume immediately. Perhaps the Earl '_bears no brother
near the throne_,'--_if so_, I will make his _sceptre_ totter _in his
hands_.--Adieu!"


LETTER 16.

TO MISS ----.

"August 2. 1807.


"London begins to disgorge its contents--town is empty--consequently I
can scribble at leisure, as occupations are less numerous. In a
fortnight I shall depart to fulfil a country engagement; but expect
two epistles from you previous to that period. Ridge does not proceed
rapidly in Notts--very possible. In town things wear a more promising
aspect, and a man whose works are praised by _reviewers_, admired by
_duchesses_, and sold by every bookseller of the metropolis, does not
dedicate much consideration to _rustic readers_. I have now a review
before me, entitled 'Literary Recreations,' where my _hardship_ is
applauded far beyond my deserts. I know nothing of the critic, but
think _him_ a very discerning gentleman, and _myself_ a devilish
_clever_ fellow. His critique pleases me particularly, because it is
of great length, and a proper quantum of censure is administered, just
to give an agreeable _relish_ to the praise. You know I hate insipid,
unqualified, common-place compliment. If you would wish to see it,
order the 13th Number of 'Literary Recreations' for the last month. I
assure you I have not the most distant idea of the writer of the
article--it is printed in a periodical publication--and though I have
written a paper (a review of Wordsworth),[75] which appears in the
same work, I am ignorant of every other person concerned in it--even
the editor, whose name I have not heard. My cousin, Lord Alexander
Gordon, who resided in the same hotel, told me his mother, her Grace
of Gordon, requested he would introduce my _Poetical_ Lordship to her
_Highness_, as she had bought my volume, admired it exceedingly, in
common with the rest of the fashionable world, and wished to claim
her relationship with the author. I was unluckily engaged on an
excursion for some days afterwards, and as the Duchess was on the eve
of departing for Scotland, I have postponed my introduction till the
winter, when I shall favour the lady, _whose taste I shall not
dispute_, with my most sublime and edifying conversation. She is now
in the Highlands, and Alexander took his departure, a few days ago,
for the same _blessed_ seat of _'dark rolling winds.'_

"Crosby, my London publisher, has disposed of his second importation,
and has sent to Ridge for a _third_--at least so he says. In every
bookseller's window I see my _own name_, and _say nothing_, but enjoy
my fame in secret. My last reviewer kindly requests me to alter my
determination of writing no more; and 'A Friend to the Cause of
Literature' begs I will _gratify_ the _public_ with some new work 'at
no very distant period.' Who would not be a bard?--that is to say, if
all critics would be so polite. However, the others will pay me off, I
doubt not, for this _gentle_ encouragement. If so, have at 'em? By the
by, I have written at my intervals of leisure, after two in the
morning, 380 lines in blank verse, of Bosworth Field. I have luckily
got Hutton's account. I shall extend the poem to eight or ten books,
and shall have finished it in a year. Whether it will be published or
not must depend on circumstances. So much for _egotism_! My _laurels_
have turned my brain, but the _cooling acids_ of forthcoming
criticisms will probably restore me to _modesty_.

"Southwell is a damned place--I have done with it--at least in all
probability: excepting yourself, I esteem no one within its precincts.
You were my only _rational_ companion; and in plain truth, I had more
respect for you than the whole _bevy_, with whose foibles I amused
myself in compliance with their prevailing propensities. You gave
yourself more trouble with me and my manuscripts than a thousand
_dolls_ would have done. Believe me, I have not forgotten your good
nature in _this circle of sin_, and one day I trust I shall be able to
evince my gratitude. Adieu,

yours, &c.

"P.S. Remember me to Dr. P."


LETTER 17.

TO MISS ----.

"London, August 11, 1807.


"On Sunday next I set off for the Highlands.[76] A friend of mine
accompanies me in my carriage to Edinburgh. There we shall leave it,
and proceed in a _tandem_ (a species of open carriage) through the
western passes to Inverary, where we shall purchase _shelties_, to
enable us to view places inaccessible to _vehicular conveyances_. On
the coast we shall hire a vessel, and visit the most remarkable of the
Hebrides; and, if we have time and favourable weather, mean to sail
as far as Iceland, only 300 miles from the northern extremity of
Caledonia, to peep at _Hecla_. This last intention you will keep a
secret, as my nice _mamma_ would imagine I was on a Voyage of
Discovery, and raise the accustomed _maternal warwhoop_.

"Last week I swam in the Thames from Lambeth through the two bridges,
Westminster and Blackfriars, a distance, including the different turns
and tacks made on the way, of three miles! You see I am in excellent
training in case of a _squall_ at sea. I mean to collect all the Erse
traditions, poems, &c. &c., and translate, or expand the subject to
fill a volume, which may appear next spring under the denomination of
_'The Highland Harp_,' or some title equally _picturesque_. Of
Bosworth Field, one book is finished, another just began. It will be a
work of three or four years, and most probably never conclude. What
would you say to some stanzas on Mount Hecla? they would be written at
least with _fire_. How is the immortal Bran? and the Phoenix of canine
quadrupeds, Boatswain? I have lately purchased a thorough-bred
bull-dog, worthy to be the coadjutor of the aforesaid celestials--his
name is _Smut_!--'Bear it, ye breezes, on your _balmy_ wings.'

"Write to me before I set off, I conjure you, by the fifth rib of your
grandfather. Ridge goes on well with the books--I thought that worthy
had not done much in the country. In town they have been very
successful; Carpenter (Moore's publisher) told me a few days ago they
sold all theirs immediately, and had several enquiries made since,
which, from the books being gone, they could not supply. The Duke of
York, the Marchioness of Headfort, the Duchess of Gordon, &c. &c.,
were among the purchasers; and Crosby says, the circulation will be
still more extensive in the winter, the summer season being very bad
for a sale, as most people are absent from London. However, they have
gone off extremely well altogether. I shall pass very near you on my
journey through Newark, but cannot approach. Don't tell this to Mrs.
B., who supposes I travel a different road. If you have a letter,
order it to be left at Ridge's shop, where I shall call, or the
post-office, Newark, about six or eight in the evening. If your
brother would ride over, I should be devilish glad to see him--he can
return the same night, or sup with us and go home the next
morning--the Kingston Arms is my inn.

"Adieu, yours ever,

"BYRON."


LETTER 18.

TO MISS ----.

"Trinity College, Cambridge, October 26. 1807.


"My dear Elizabeth,

"Fatigued with sitting up till four in the morning for the last two
days at hazard,[77] I take up my pen to enquire how your highness and
the rest of my female acquaintance at the seat of archiepiscopal
grandeur go on. I know I deserve a scolding for my negligence in not
writing more frequently; but racing up and down the country for these
last three months, how was it possible to fulfil the duties of a
correspondent? Fixed at last for six weeks, I write, as _thin_ as ever
(not having gained an ounce since my reduction), and rather in better
humour;--but, after all, Southwell was a detestable residence. Thank
St. Dominica, I have done with it: I have been twice within eight
miles of it, but could not prevail on myself to _suffocate_ in its
heavy atmosphere. This place is wretched enough--a villanous chaos of
din and drunkenness, nothing but hazard and burgundy, hunting,
mathematics, and Newmarket, riot and racing. Yet it is a paradise
compared with the eternal dulness of Southwell. Oh! the misery of
doing nothing but make love, enemies, and _verses_.

"Next January, (but this is _entre nous only_, and pray let it be so,
or my maternal persecutor will be throwing her tomahawk at any of my
curious projects,) I am going to _sea_ for four or five months, with
my cousin Capt. Bettesworth, who commands the Tartar, the finest
frigate in the navy. I have seen most scenes, and wish to look at a
naval life. We are going probably to the Mediterranean, or to the West
Indies, or--to the d----l; and if there is a possibility of taking me to
the latter, Bettesworth will do it; for he has received four and
twenty wounds in different places, and at this moment possesses a
letter from the late Lord Nelson, stating Bettesworth as the only
officer in the navy who had more wounds than himself.

"I have got a new friend, the finest in the world, a _tame bear_.
When I brought him here, they asked me what I meant to do with him,
and my reply was, 'he should _sit for a fellowship_.' Sherard
will explain the meaning of the sentence, if it is ambiguous. This
answer delighted them not. We have several parties here, and this
evening a large assortment of jockeys, gamblers, boxers, authors,
parsons, and poets, sup with me,--a precious mixture, but they go on
well together; and for me, I am a _spice_ of every thing except a
jockey; by the by, I was dismounted again the other day.

Thank your brother in my name for his treatise. I have written 214
pages of a novel,--one poem of 380 lines,[78] to be published (without
my name) in a few weeks, with notes,--560 lines of Bosworth Field, and
250 lines of another poem in rhyme, besides half a dozen smaller
pieces. The poem to be published is a Satire. _Apropos_, I have been
praised to the skies in the Critical Review,[79] and abused greatly in
another publication.[80] So much the better, they tell me, for the
sale of the book: it keeps up controversy, and prevents it being
forgotten. Besides, the first men of all ages have had their share,
nor do the humblest escape;--so I bear it like a philosopher. It is
odd two opposite critiques came out on the same day, and out of five
pages of abuse, my censor only quotes _two lines_ from different
poems, in support of his opinion. Now, the proper way to _cut up_, is
to quote long passages, and make them appear absurd, because simple
allegation is no proof. On the other hand, there are seven pages of
praise, and more than _my modesty_ will allow, said on the subject.
Adieu.

"P.S. Write, write, write!!!"


It was at the beginning of the following year that an acquaintance
commenced between Lord Byron and a gentleman, related to his family by
marriage, Mr. Dallas,--the author of some novels, popular, I believe,
in their day, and also of a sort of Memoir of the noble Poet,
published soon after his death, which, from being founded chiefly on
original correspondence, is the most authentic and trust-worthy of any
that have yet appeared. In the letters addressed by Lord Byron to this
gentleman, among many details, curious in a literary point of view, we
find, what is much more important for our present purpose, some
particulars illustrative of the opinions which he had formed, at this
time of his life, on the two subjects most connected with the early
formation of character--morals and religion.

It is but rarely that infidelity or scepticism finds an entrance into
youthful minds. That readiness to take the future upon trust, which is
the charm of this period of life, would naturally, indeed, make it the
season of belief as well as of hope. There are also then, still fresh
in the mind, the impressions of early religious culture, which, even
in those who begin soonest to question their faith, give way but
slowly to the encroachments of doubt, and, in the mean time, extend
the benefit of their moral restraint over a portion of life when it is
acknowledged such restraints are most necessary. If exemption from the
checks of religion be, as infidels themselves allow,[81] a state of
freedom from responsibility dangerous at all times, it must be
peculiarly so in that season of temptation, youth, when the passions
are sufficiently disposed to usurp a latitude for themselves, without
taking a licence also from infidelity to enlarge their range. It is,
therefore, fortunate that, for the causes just stated, the inroads of
scepticism and disbelief should be seldom felt in the mind till a
period of life when the character, already formed, is out of the reach
of their disturbing influence,--when, being the result, however
erroneous, of thought and reasoning, they are likely to partake of the
sobriety of the process by which they were acquired, and, being
considered but as matters of pure speculation, to have as little share
in determining the mind towards evil as, too often, the most orthodox
creed has, at the same age, in influencing it towards good.

While, in this manner, the moral qualities of the unbeliever himself
are guarded from some of the mischiefs that might, at an earlier age,
attend such doctrines, the danger also of his communicating the
infection to others is, for reasons of a similar nature, considerably
diminished. The same vanity or daring which may have prompted the
youthful sceptic's opinions, will lead him likewise, it is probable,
rashly and irreverently to avow them, without regard either to the
effect of his example on those around him, or to the odium which, by
such an avowal, he entails irreparably on himself. But, at a riper
age, these consequences are, in general, more cautiously weighed. The
infidel, if at all considerate of the happiness of others, will
naturally pause before he chases from their hearts a hope of which his
own feels the want so desolately. If regardful only of himself, he
will no less naturally shrink from the promulgation of opinions which,
in no age, have men uttered with impunity. In either case there is a
tolerably good security for his silence;--for, should benevolence not
restrain him from making converts of others, prudence may, at least,
prevent him from making a martyr of himself.

Unfortunately, Lord Byron was an exception to the usual course of such
lapses. With him, the canker showed itself "in the morn and dew of
youth," when the effect of such "blastments" is, for every reason,
most fatal,--and, in addition to the real misfortune of being an
unbeliever at any age, he exhibited the rare and melancholy spectacle
of an unbelieving schoolboy. The same prematurity of developement
which brought his passions and genius so early into action, enabled
him also to anticipate this worst, dreariest result of reason; and at
the very time of life when a spirit and temperament like his most
required control, those checks, which religious pre-possessions best
supply, were almost wholly wanting.

We have seen, in those two Addresses to the Deity which I have
selected from among his unpublished poems, and still more strongly in
a passage of the Catalogue of his studies, at what a boyish age the
authority of all systems and sects was avowedly shaken off by his
enquiring spirit. Yet, even in these, there is a fervour of adoration
mingled with his defiance of creeds, through which the piety implanted
in his nature (as it is deeply in all poetic natures) unequivocally
shows itself; and had he then fallen within the reach of such guidance
and example as would have seconded and fostered these natural
dispositions, the licence of opinion into which he afterwards broke
loose might have been averted. His scepticism, if not wholly removed,
might have been softened down into that humble doubt, which, so far
from being inconsistent with a religious spirit, is, perhaps, its best
guard against presumption and uncharitableness; and, at all events,
even if his own views of religion had not been brightened or elevated,
he would have learned not wantonly to cloud or disturb those of
others. But there was no such monitor near him. After his departure
from Southwell, he had not a single friend or relative to whom he
could look up with respect; but was thrown alone on the world, with
his passions and his pride, to revel in the fatal discovery which he
imagined himself to have made of the nothingness of the future, and
the all-paramount claims of the present. By singular ill fortune, too,
the individual who, among all his college friends, had taken the
strongest hold on his admiration and affection, and whose loss he
afterwards lamented with brotherly tenderness, was, to the same extent
as himself, if not more strongly, a sceptic. Of this remarkable young
man, Matthews, who was so early snatched away, and whose career in
after-life, had it been at all answerable to the extraordinary
promise of his youth, must have placed him upon a level with the first
men of his day, a Memoir was, at one time, intended to be published by
his relatives; and to Lord Byron, among others of his college friends,
application, for assistance in the task, was addressed. The letter
which this circumstance drew forth from the noble poet, besides
containing many amusing traits of his friend, affords such an insight
into his own habits of life at this period, that, though infringing
upon the chronological order of his correspondence, I shall insert it
here.

Copyright (c) 2007. topmasterworks.com. All rights reserved.