The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals Volume II Part 73

Thomas Moore,--(Thou wilt never be called "_true_ Thomas," [1] like he of Ercildoune,) why don't you write to me?--as you won't, I must. I was near you at Aston the other day, and hope I soon shall be again. If so, you must and shall meet me, and go to Matlock and elsewhere, and take what, in _flash_ dialect, is poetically termed "a lark," with Rogers and me for accomplices. Yesterday, at Holland House, I was introduced to Southey--the best-looking bard I have seen for some time. To have that poet's head and shoulders, I would almost have written his Sapphics. He is certainly a prepossessing person to look on, and a man of talent, and all that, and--_there_ is his eulogy.

----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 [2] 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." [3]

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.

[Footnote 1: Thomas Learmont, of Ercildoune, called "Thomas the Rhymer," is to reappear on earth when Shrove Tuesday and Good Friday change places. He sleeps beneath the Eildon Hills.]

[Footnote 2: Aston Hall, Rotherham, at that time rented by J. Wedderburn Webster.]

[Footnote 3: In 'She Stoops to Conquer' (act ii.) Tony Lumpkin says,

"I wish you'd let me and my good alone, then--snubbing this way when I'm in spirits."]

336.--To John Murray.

Sept. 29, 1813.

Dear Sir,--Pray suspend the _proofs_ for I am bitten again and have quant.i.ties for other parts of _The Giaour_.

Yours ever,

B.

P. S.--You shall have these in the course of the day.

337.--To James Wedderburn Webster.

September 30th, 1813.

My dear Webster,--Thanks for your letter. I had answered it by _antic.i.p.ation_ last night, and this is but a postscript to my reply. My yesterday's contained some advice, which I now see you don't want, and hope you never will.

So! Petersham [1] has not joined you. I pity the poor women. No one can properly repair such a deficiency; but rather than such a chasm should be left utterly unfathomable, I, even I, the most awkward of attendants and deplorable of danglers, would have been of your forlorn hope, on this expedition. Nothing but business, and the notion of my being utterly superfluous in so numerous a party, would have induced me to resign so soon my quiet apartments never interrupted but by the sound, or the more harmonious barking of Nettle, and clas.h.i.+ng of billiard b.a.l.l.s.

On Sunday I shall leave town and mean to join you immediately. I have not yet had my sister's answer to Lady Frances's very kind invitation, but expect it tomorrow. Pray a.s.sure Lady Frances that I never can forget the obligation conferred upon me in this respect, and I trust that even Lady Catherine [2] will, in this instance, not question my "stability."

I yesterday wrote you rather a long tirade about La Comptesse, but you seem in no immediate peril; I will therefore burn it. Yet I don't know why I should, as you may relapse: it shall e'en go.

I have been pa.s.sing my time with Rogers and Sir James Mackintosh; and once at Holland House I met Southey; he is a person of very _epic_ appearance, and has a fine head--as far as the outside goes, and wants nothing but taste to make the inside equally attractive.

Ever, my dear W., yours,

Biron.

P.S.--I read your letter thus: "the Countess is _miserable_" instead of which it is "_inexorable_" a very different thing. The best way is to let her alone; she must be a _diablesse_ by what you told me. You have probably not _bid_ high enough. _Now_ you are not, perhaps, of my opinion; but I would not give the t.i.the of a Birmingham farthing for a woman who could or would be purchased, nor indeed for any woman _quoad mere woman_; that is to say, unless I loved her for something more than her s.e.x. If she _loves_, a little _pique_ is not amiss, nor even if she don't; the next thing to a woman's _love_ in a man's favour is her _hatred_,--a seeming paradox but true. Get them once out of _indifference_ and circ.u.mstance, and their pa.s.sions will do wonders for a _dasher_ which I suppose you are, though I seldom had the impudence or patience to follow them up.

[Footnote 1: Lord Petersham was one of the chief dandies of the day.

Gronow in 1814 ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 285) found him

"making a particular sort of blacking, which he said would eventually supersede every other."

His snuff-mixture was famous among tobacconists, and he gave his name to a fas.h.i.+onable great-coat. In his collection of snuff-boxes, one of the finest in England, he was supposed to have a box for every day in the year. Gronow ('ibid'.)

"heard him, on the occasion of a delightful old light-blue Sevres box he was using being admired, say, in his lisping way, 'Yes, it is a nice summer box, but would not do for winter wear.'"

Lord Petersham, who never went out of doors before 6 p.m., was celebrated for his brown carriages, brown horses, brown harness, and brown liveries.]

[Footnote 2: Lady Catherine Annesley, sister of Lady F. W. Webster, afterwards Lady John Somerset.]