SIR,--You must excuse my troubling you once more upon this very unpleasant subject. It would be a satisfaction to me, and I should think to yourself, that the unopened letter in Mr. Hodgson"s possession (supposing it to prove your own) should be returned _in statu quo_ to the writer; particularly as you expressed yourself "not quite easy under the manner in which I had dwelt on its miscarriage."
A few words more, and I shall not trouble you further. I felt, and still feel, very much flattered by those parts of your correspondence, which held out the prospect of our becoming acquainted. If I did not meet them in the first instance as perhaps I ought, let the situation I was placed in be my defence. You have _now_ declared yourself _satisfied_, and on that point we are no longer at issue. If, therefore, you still retain any wish to do me the honour you hinted at, I shall be most happy to meet you, when, where, and how you please, and I presume you will not attribute my saying thus much to any unworthy motive.
I have the honour to remain, etc.
[Footnote 1:
"Piqued," says Moore ("Life", 144), "at the manner in which my efforts towards a more friendly understanding were received,"
he had briefly expressed his satisfaction at Byron"s explanation, and added that the correspondence might close.]
206.--To R. C. Dallas.
8, St. James"s Street, October 31, 1811.
DEAR SIR,--I have already taken up so much of your time that there needs no excuse on your part, but a great many on mine, for the present interruption. I have altered the pa.s.sages according to your wish. With this note I send a few stanzas on a subject which has lately occupied much of my thoughts. They refer to the death of one to whose name you are a _stranger_, and, consequently, cannot be interested. I mean them to complete the present volume. They relate to the same person whom I have mentioned in Canto 2nd, and at the conclusion of the poem.
I by no means intend to identify myself with "Harold", but to _deny_ all connection with him. If in parts I may be thought to have drawn from myself, believe me it is but in parts, and I shall not own even to that.
As to the _Monastic dome_, etc., [1] I thought those circ.u.mstances would suit him as well as any other, and I could describe what I had seen better than I could invent. I would not be such a fellow as I have made my hero for all the world.
Yours ever,
B.
[Footnote 1: "Childe Harold", Canto II. stanza xlviii.]
207.--To Thomas Moore.
8, St. James"s Street, November 1, 1811.
Sir,--As I should be very sorry to interrupt your Sunday"s engagement, if Monday, or any other day of the ensuing week, would be equally convenient to yourself and friend, I will then have the honour of accepting his invitation. [1]
Of the professions of esteem with which Mr. Rogers [2] has honoured me, I cannot but feel proud, though undeserving. I should be wanting to myself, if insensible to the praise of such a man; and, should my approaching interview with him and his friend lead to any degree of intimacy with both or either, I shall regard our past correspondence as one of the happiest events of my life. I have the honour to be,
Your very sincere and obedient servant,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: Rogers has left an account of this dinner.
"Neither Moore nor myself had ever seen Byron when it was settled that he should dine at my house to meet Moore; nor was he known by sight to Campbell, who, happening to call upon me that morning, consented to join the party. I thought it best that I alone should be in the drawing-room when Byron entered it; and Moore and Campbell accordingly withdrew. Soon after his arrival, they returned; and I introduced them to him severally, naming them as Adam named the beasts. When we sat down to dinner, I asked Byron if he would take soup? "No; he never took soup." "Would he take some fish?" "No; he never took fish."
Presently I asked if he would eat some mutton? "No; he never ate mutton." I then asked if he would take a gla.s.s of wine? "No; he never tasted wine." It was now necessary to inquire what he "did" eat and drink; and the answer was, "Nothing but hard biscuits and soda-water."
Unfortunately, neither hard biscuits nor soda-water were at hand; and he dined upon potatoes bruised down on his plate and drenched with vinegar. My guests stayed very late, discussing the merits of Walter Scott and Joanna Baillie. Some days after, meeting Hobhouse, I said to him, "How long will Lord Byron persevere in his present diet? "He replied, "Just as long as you continue to notice it." I did not then know, what I now know to be a fact, that Byron, after leaving my house, had gone to a Club in St. James"s Street and eaten a hearty meat-supper"
("Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers", pp. 231, 232). Moore"s ("Life", p. 145) first impressions of Byron were
"the n.o.bleness of his air, his beauty, the gentleness of his voice and manners, and--what was naturally not the least attraction--his marked kindness to myself. Being in mourning for his mother, the colour, as well of his dress, as of his glossy, curling, and picturesque hair, gave more effect to the pure, spiritual paleness of his features, in the expression of which, when he spoke, there was a perpetual play of lively thought, though melancholy was their habitual character when in repose."]
[Footnote 2: Samuel Rogers (1763-1855), the third son of a London banker, was born at Stoke Newington. Shortly after his father"s death, in 1793, he withdrew from any active part in the management of the bank, and devoted himself for the rest of his long life to literature, art, and society. In 1803 he moved from chambers in the Temple to a house in St. James"s Place, overlooking the Green Park. Here he lived till his death, in December, 1855, and here he gathered round him, at his celebrated breakfasts, the most distinguished men and women of his time.
An excellent account of the "Town Mouse" entertaining the "Country Mouse" is given by Dean Stanley ("Life", vol. i. p. 298), who met Wordsworth at breakfast with Rogers, in 1841, and describes
"the town mouse a sleek, well-fed, sly, "white" mouse, and the country mouse with its rough, weather-worn face and grey hairs; the town mouse displaying its delicate little rolls and pyramids of glistening strawberries, the country mouse exulting in its hollow tree, its crust of bread and liberty, and rallying its brother on his late hours and frequent dinners."
One of his earliest recollections was the sight of a rebel"s head upon a pole at Temple Bar. He had talked with a Thames boatman who remembered Pope; had seen Garrick in "The Suspicious Husband"; had heard Sir Joshua Reynolds deliver his last lecture as President of the Royal Academy; had seen John Wesley "lying in state" in the City Road; had gone to call on Dr. Johnson, but, when his hand was on the knocker, found his courage fled. He lived to be offered the laureateship in 1850, on the death of Wordsworth, and to decline it in favour of Tennyson.
"Time was," wrote Mathias ("Pursuits of Literature", note, p. 360, ed.
1808), "when bankers were as stupid as their guineas could make them; they were neither orators, nor painters, nor poets. But now. .. Mr.
Rogers dreams on Parna.s.sus; and, if I am rightly informed, there is a great demand among his brethren for the "Pleasures of Memory"."
Rogers began to write poetry at an early age, and continued to write it all his life. His "Ode to Superst.i.tion" was published in 1786; the "Pleasures of Memory", in 1792; the "Epistle to a Friend", in 1798; "Columbus", in 1812; "Jacqueline", in 1813; "Human Life", in 1819; "Italy", in 1822-34. His later years were occupied in revising, correcting, or amplifying his published poems, and in preparing the notes to "Italy", which are admirable studies in compactness and precision of language. A disciple of Pope, an imitator of Goldsmith, Rogers was rather a skilful adapter than an original poet. His chief talent was his taste; if he could not originate, he could appreciate.
The fastidious care which he lavished on his work has preserved it. In his commonplace-book he has entered the number of years which he spent in composing and revising his poems. His "Pleasures of Memory" occupied seven years, "Columbus" fourteen, and "Italy" fifteen. An excellent judge of art, he employed Flaxman, Stothard, and Turner at a time when their powers were little appreciated by his fellow-countrymen. Of his taste Byron speaks enthusiastically in his Journal (see p. 331). But the following pa.s.sage (hitherto unpublished) from his "Detached Thoughts"
(Ravenna, 1821) gives his later opinion of the man:
"When Sheridan was on his death-bed, Rogers aided him with purse and person. This was particularly kind of Rogers, who always spoke ill of Sheridan (to me, at least), but, indeed, he does that of everybody to anybody. Rogers is the reverse of the line:
"The _best good man_ with the _worst_ natured Muse,"
being: