[Footnote 4: Hannibal, in exile at Ephesus, was taken to hear a lecture by a peripatetic philosopher named Phormio. The lecturer ("h.o.m.o copiosus") discoursed for some hours on the duties of a general, and military subjects generally. The delighted audience asked Hannibal his opinion of the lecture. He replied in Greek,
"I have seen many old fools often, but such an old fool as Phormio, never
("Multos se deliros senes spe vidisse; sed qui magis, quam Phormio, deliraret, vidisse neminem")"
(Cicero, "De Oratore", ii. 18).]
211.--To James Wedderburn Webster.
8, St. James"s St., Dec. 7th, 1811.
My Dear W.,--I was out of town during the arrival of your letters, but forwarded all on my return.
I hope you are going on to your satisfaction, and that her Ladyship is about to produce an heir with all his mother"s Graces and all his Sire"s good qualities. You know I am to be a G.o.dfather. Byron Webster! a most heroic name, say what you please.
Don"t be alarmed; my "_caprice_" won"t lead me in to Dorset. No, _Bachelors_ for me! I consider you as dead to us, and all my future _devoirs_ are but tributes of respect to your _Memory_. Poor fellow! he was a facetious companion and well respected by all who knew him; but he is gone. Sooner or later we must all come to it.
I see nothing of you in the _papers_, the only place where I don"t wish to see you; but you will be in town in the Winter. What dost thou do?
shoot, hunt, and "wind up y"e Clock" as Caleb Quotem says? [1]
That thou art vastly happy, I doubt not.
I see your brother in law at times, and like him much; but we miss you much; I shall leave town in a fortnight to pa.s.s my Xmas in Notts.
Good afternoon, Dear W.
Believe me, Yours ever most truly, B.
[Footnote 1: Byron alludes to Caleb Quotem"s song in "The Review, or Wags of Windsor" (act ii. sc. 2), by George Colman the Younger:
"I"m parish clerk and s.e.xton here, My name is Caleb Quotem, I"m painter, glazier, auctioneer, In short, I am factotum."
"At night by the fire, like a good, jolly c.o.c.k, When my day"s work is done and all over, I tipple, I smoke, and I wind up the clock, With my sweet Mrs. Quotem in clover."]
212.--To William Harness.
St. James"s Street, Dec. 8, 1811.
Behold a most formidable sheet, without gilt or black edging, and consequently very vulgar and indecorous, particularly to one of your precision; but this being Sunday, I can procure no better, and will atone for its length by not filling it. Bland I have not seen since my last letter; but on Tuesday he dines with me, and will meet Moore, the epitome of all that is exquisite in poetical or personal accomplishments. How Bland has settled with Miller, I know not. I have very little interest with either, and they must arrange their concerns according to their own gusto. I have done my endeavours, _at your request_, to bring them together, and hope they may agree to their mutual advantage.
Coleridge has been lecturing against Campbell. [1]
Rogers was present, and from him I derive the information. We are going to make a party to hear this Manichean of poesy. Pole [2] is to marry Miss Long, and will be a very miserable dog for all that. The present ministers are to continue, and his Majesty _does_ continue in the same state; so there"s folly and madness for you, both in a breath.
I never heard but of one man truly fortunate, and he was Beaumarchais, [3] the author of _Figaro_, who buried two wives and gained three lawsuits before he was thirty.
And now, child, what art thou doing? _Reading, I trust_. I want to see you take a degree. Remember, this is the most important period of your life; and don"t disappoint your papa and your aunt, and all your kin--besides myself. Don"t you know that all male children are begotten for the express purpose of being graduates? and that even I am an A.M., [4] though how I became so the Public Orator only can resolve. Besides, you are to be a priest; and to confute Sir William Drummond"s late book about the Bible [5] (printed, but not published), and all other infidels whatever. Now leave Master H."s gig, and Master S."s Sapphics, and become as immortal as Cambridge can make you.
You see, _Mio Carissimo_, what a pestilent correspondent I am likely to become; but then you shall be as quiet at Newstead as you please, and I won"t disturb your studies as I do now. When do you fix the day, that I may take you up according to contract? Hodgson talks of making a third in our journey; but we can"t stow him, inside at least. Positively you shall go with me as was agreed, and don"t let me have any of your _politesse_ to H. on the occasion. I shall manage to arrange for both with a little contrivance. I wish H. was not quite so fat, and we should pack better. You will want to know what I am doing--chewing tobacco.
You see nothing of my allies, Scrope Davies and Matthews [6]--they don"t suit you; and how does it happen that I--who am a pipkin of the same pottery--continue in your good graces? Good night,--I will go on in the morning.
Dec. 9th.--In a morning I am always sullen, and to-day is as sombre as myself. Rain and mist are worse than a sirocco, particularly in a beef-eating and beer-drinking country. My bookseller, Cawthorne, has just left me, and tells me, with a most important face, that he is in treaty for a novel of Madame D"Arblay"s, for which 1000 guineas are asked! [7] He wants me to read the MS. (if he obtains it), which I shall do with pleasure; but I should be very cautious in venturing an opinion on her whose _Cecilia_ Dr. Johnson superintended. [8]
If he lends it to me, I shall put it in the hands of Rogers and Moore, who are truly men of taste. I have filled the sheet, and beg your pardon; I will not do it again. I shall, perhaps, write again; but if not, believe, silent or scribbling, that I am,
My dearest William, ever, etc.
[Footnote 1: See p. 75, "note" 1. In the application to Coleridge of the phrase, "Manichean of poesy," Byron may allude to Cowper"s "Task" (bk.
v. lines 444, 445):
"As dreadful as the Manichean G.o.d, Adored through fear, strong only to destroy."]
[Footnote 2: William Wellesley Pole Tylney Long Wellesley (1788-1857), one of the most worthless of the bloods of the Regency, son of Lord Maryborough, and nephew of the Duke of Wellington, became in 1845 the fourth Earl of Mornington. He married in March, 1812, Catherine, daughter and co-heir, with her brother, of Sir James Tylney Long, Bart., of Draycot, Wilts. On his marriage he added his wife"s double name to his own, and so gave a point to the authors of Rejected Addresses:
"Long may Long-Tilney-Wellesley-Long-Pole live."
For Byron"s allusion to him in "The Waltz", see "Poems", 1898, vol. i.
p. 484, note 1. Having run through his wife"s large fortune by his extravagant expenditure at Wanstead Park and elsewhere, he was obliged, in 1822, to escape from his creditors to the Continent. There (1823-25) he lived with Mrs. Bligh, wife of Captain Bligh, of the Coldstream Guards. His wife died in 1825, after filing a bill for divorce, and making her children wards of Chancery. Wellesley subsequently (1828) married Mrs. Bligh; but the second wife was as ill treated as the first, and he left her so dest.i.tute that she was a frequent applicant for relief at the metropolitan police-courts. He died of heart-disease in July, 1857, a pensioner on the charity of his cousin, the second Duke of Wellington.]