Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Byron

  Yours very truly, etc.

  “In Seaham churchyard, without any memorial,” says Mr. Surtees, “rest the remains of Joseph Blacket, an unfortunate child of genius, whose last days were soothed by the generous attention of the family of Milbanke.”

  Hist. of Durham, vol. i. p. 272. (See also Letters, vol. i. p. 314, note 2 [

  “It is, I believe, certainly true that the King has taken for the last three days scarcely any food at all, and that, unless a change takes place very shortly in that respect, he cannot survive many days”

  (Auckland Correspondence, vol. iv. p. 366).

  It was, however, the mind, and not the physical strength that failed.

  “The King, I should suppose,” wrote Lord Buckinghamshire, on August 13, “is not likely to die soon, but I fear his mental recovery is hardly to be expected “

  (ibid., vol. iv. p. 367).

  George III. never, except for brief intervals, recovered his reason.

  172 — to R. C. Dallas

  Newstead Abbey, Aug. 27, 1811.

  I was so sincere in my note on the late Charles Matthews, and do feel myself so totally unable to do justice to his talents, that the passage must stand for the very reason you bring against it. To him all the men I ever knew were pigmies. He was an intellectual giant. It is true I loved Wingfield better; he was the earliest and the dearest, and one of the few one could never repent of having loved: but in ability — ah! you did not know Matthews!

  Childe Harold may wait and welcome — books are never the worse for delay in the publication. So you have got our heir, George Anson Byron, and his sister, with you.

  You may say what you please, but you are one of the murderers of Blackett, and yet you won’t allow Harry White’s genius.

  Setting aside his bigotry, he surely ranks next Chatterton. It is astonishing how little he was known; and at Cambridge no one thought or heard of such a man till his death rendered all notice useless. For my own part, I should have been most proud of such an acquaintance: his very prejudices were respectable. There is a sucking epic poet at Granta, a Mr. Townsend, protégé of the late Cumberland. Did you ever hear of him and his Armageddon? I think his plan (the man I don’t know) borders on the sublime: though, perhaps, the anticipation of the “Last Day” (according to you Nazarenes) is a little too daring: at least, it looks like telling the Lord what he is to do, and might remind an ill-natured person of the line,

  “And fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”

  But I don’t mean to cavil, only other folks will, and he may bring all the lambs of Jacob Behmen about his ears. However, I hope he will bring it to a conclusion, though Milton is in his way.

  Write to me — I dote on gossip — and make a bow to Ju — , and shake George by the hand for me; but, take care, for he has a sad sea paw.

  P.S. — I would ask George here, but I don’t know how to amuse him — all my horses were sold when I left England, and I have not had time to replace them. Nevertheless, if he will come down and shoot in September, he will be very welcome: but he must bring a gun, for I gave away all mine to Ali Pacha, and other Turks. Dogs, a keeper, and plenty of game, with a very large manor, I have — a lake, a boat, houseroom, and neat wines.

  “I have been reading the Remains of Kirke White, and find that you have to answer for misleading me. He does not, in my opinion, merit the high praise you have bestowed upon him.”

  Writing again, August 26, he objected to the note on Matthews in Childe Harold:

  “In your note, as it stands, it strikes me that the eulogy on Matthews is a little at the expense of Wingfield and others whom you have commemorated. I should think it quite enough to say that his Powers and Attainments were above all praise, without expressly admitting them to be above that of a Muse who soars high in the praise of others.”

  173 — To the Hon. Augusta Leigh

  Newstead Abbey, August 30th, 1811.

  My Dear Augusta, — The embarrassments you mention in your last letter I never heard of before, but that disease is epidemic in our family. Neither have I been apprised of any of the changes at which you hint, indeed how should I? On the borders of the Black Sea, we heard only of the Russians. So you have much to tell, and all will be novelty.

  I don’t know what Scrope Davies meant by telling you I liked Children, I abominate the sight of them so much that I have always had the greatest respect for the character of Herod. But, as my house here is large enough for us all, we should go on very well, and I need not tell you that I long to see you. I really do not perceive any thing so formidable in a Journey hither of two days, but all this comes of Matrimony, you have a Nurse and all the etceteras of a family. Well, I must marry to repair the ravages of myself and prodigal ancestry, but if I am ever so unfortunate as to be presented with an Heir, instead of a Rattle he shall be provided with a Gag.

  I shall perhaps be able to accept D’s invitation to Cambridge, but I fear my stay in Lancashire will be prolonged, I proceed there in the 2d week in Septr to arrange my coal concerns, & then if I can’t persuade some wealthy dowdy to ennoble the dirty puddle of her mercantile Blood, — why — I shall leave England and all it’s clouds for the East again; I am very sick of it already. Joe has been getting well of a disease that would have killed a troop of horse; he promises to bear away the palm of longevity from old Parr. As you won’t come, you will write; I long to hear all those unutterable things, being utterly unable to guess at any of them, unless they concern your relative the Thane of Carlisle, though I had great hopes we had done with him.

  I have little to add that you do not already know, and being quite alone, have no great variety of incident to gossip with; I am but rarely pestered with visiters, and the few I have I get rid of as soon as possible. I will now take leave of you in the Jargon of 1794. “Health & Fraternity!”

  Yours alway, B.

  “6 Mile Bottom, Aug. 27th.

  “My Dearest Brother, — Your letter was stupidly sent to Town to me on Sunday, from whence I arrived at home yesterday; consequently I have not received it so soon as I ought to have done. I feel so very happy to have the pleasure of hearing from you that I will not delay a moment answering it, altho’ I am in all the delights of unpacking, and afraid of being too late for the Post.

  “I have been a fortnight in Town, and went up on my eldest little girl’s account. She had been very unwell for some time, and I could not feel happy till I had better advice than this neighbourhood affords. She is, thank Heaven! much better, and I hope in a fair way to be quite herself again. Mr. Davies flattered me by saying she was exactly the sort of child you would delight in. I am determined not to say another word in her praise for fear you should accuse me of partiality and expect too much. The youngest (little Augusta) is just 6 months old, and has no particular merit at present but a very sweet placid temper.

  “Oh! that I could immediately set out to Newstead and shew them to you. I can’t tell you half the happiness it would give me to see it and you; but, my dearest B., it is a long journey and serious undertaking all things considered. Mr. Davies writes me word you promise to make him a visit bye and bye; pray do, you can then so easily come here. I have set my heart upon it. Consider how very long it is since I’ve seen you.

  “I have indeed much to tell you; but it is more easily said than written. Probably you have heard of many changes in our situation since you left England; in a pecuniary point of view it is materially altered for the worse; perhaps in other respects better. Col. Leigh has been in Dorsetshire and Sussex during my stay in Town. I expect him at home towards the end of this week, and hope to make him acquainted with you ere long.

  “I have not time to write half I have to say, for my letter must go; but I prefer writing in a hurry to not writing at all. You can’t think how much I feel for your griefs and losses, or how much and constantly I have thought of you lately. I began a letter to you in Town, but destroyed it, from the fear of appearing troublesome. There a
re times, I know, when one cannot write with any degree of comfort or satisfaction. I intend to do so again shortly, so I hope yon won’t think me a bore.

  Remember me most kindly to Old Joe. I rejoice to hear of his health and prosperity. Your letter (some parts of it at least) made me laugh. I am so very glad to hear you have sufficiently overcome your prejudices against the fair sex to have determined upon marrying; but I shall be most anxious that my future Belle Soeur should have more attractions than merely money, though to be sure that is somewhat necessary. I have not another moment, dearest B., so forgive me if I write again very soon, and believe me,

  Your most affec’tn Sister, A. L.

  Do write if you can.”

  “One night Scrope Davies at a Gaming house (before I was of age), being tipsy as he usually was at the Midnight hour, and having lost monies, was in vain intreated by his friends, one degree less intoxicated than himself, to come or go home. In despair, he was left to himself and to the demons of the dice-box.

  Next day, being visited about two of the Clock, by some friends just risen with a severe headache and empty pockets (who had left him losing at four or five in the morning), he was found in a sound sleep, without a night-cap, and not particularly encumbered with bed-cloathes: a Chamber-pot stood by his bed-side, brim-full of — -Bank Notes!, all won, God knows how, and crammed, Scrope knew not where; but There they were, all good legitimate notes, and to the amount of some thousand pounds.”

  174 — To the Hon. Augusta Leigh

  Newstead Abbey, Aug’st 30th, 1811.

  My Dear Augusta, — I wrote to you yesterday, and as you will not be very sorry to hear from me again, considering our long separation, I shall fill up this sheet before I go to bed. I have heard something of a quarrel between your spouse and the Prince, I don’t wish to pry into family secrets or to hear anything more of the matter, but I can’t help regretting on your account that so long an intimacy should be dissolved at the very moment when your husband might have derived some advantage from his R. H.’s friendship. However, at all events, and in all Situations, you have a brother in me, and a home here.

  I am led into this train of thinking by a part of your letter which hints at pecuniary losses. I know how delicate one ought to be on such subjects, but you are probably the only being on Earth now interested in my welfare, certainly the only relative, and I should be very ungrateful if I did not feel the obligation. You must excuse my being a little cynical, knowing how my temper was tried in my Non-age; the manner in which I was brought up must necessarily have broken a meek Spirit, or rendered a fiery one ungovernable; the effect it has had on mine I need not state.

  However, buffeting with the World has brought me a little to reason, and two years travel in distant and barbarous countries has accustomed me to bear privations, and consequently to laugh at many things which would have made me angry before. But I am wandering — in short I only want to assure you that I love you, and that you must not think I am indifferent, because I don’t shew my affection in the usual way.

  Pray can’t you contrive to pay me a visit between this and Xmas? or shall I carry you down with me from Cambridge, supposing it practicable for me to come? You will do what you please, without our interfering with each other; the premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting, — but I can’t feel the comfort of this till I marry. In short it would be the most amiable matrimonial mansion, and that is another great inducement to my plan, — my wife and I shall be so happy, — one in each Wing. If this description won’t make you come, I can’t tell what will, you must please yourself. Good night, I have to walk half a mile to my Bed chamber.

  Yours ever, Byron.

  175 — To James Wedderburn Webster

  Newstead Abbey, Notts., Aug’st 31st, 1811.

  My Dear W., — I send you back your friend’s letter, and, though I don’t agree with his Canons of Criticism, they are not the worse for that. My friend Hodgson is not much honoured by the comparison to the Pursuits of L., which is notoriously, as far as the poetry goes, the worst written of its kind; the World has been long but of one opinion, viz. that it’s sole merit lies in the Notes, which are indisputably excellent.

  Had Hodgson’s “Alterative” been placed with the Baviad the compliment had been higher to both; for, surely, the Baviad is as much superior to H.’s poem, as I do firmly believe H.’s poem to be to the Pursuits of Literature.

  Your correspondent talks for talking’s sake when he says “Lady J. Grey” is neither “Epic, dramatic, or legendary.” Who ever said it was “epic” or “dramatic”? he might as well say his letter was neither “epic or dramatic;” the poem makes no pretensions to either character. “Legendary” it certainly is, but what has that to do with its merits? All stories of that kind founded on facts are in a certain degree legendary, but they may be well or ill written without the smallest alteration in that respect. When Mr. Hare prattles about the “Economy,” etc., he sinks sadly; — all such expressions are the mere cant of a schoolboy hovering round the Skirts of Criticism.

  Hodgson’s tale is one of the best efforts of his Muse, and Mr. H.’s approbation must be of more consequence, before any body will reduce it to a “Scale,” or be much affected by “the place” he “assigns” to the productions of a man like Hodgson.

  But I have said more than I intended and only beg you never to allow yourself to be imposed upon by such “common place” as the 6th form letter you sent me. Judge for yourself.

  I know the Mr. Bankes you mention though not to that “extreme” you seem to think, but I am flattered by his “boasting” on such a subject (as you say), for I never thought him likely to “boast” of any thing which was not his own. I am not “melancholish” — pray what “folk” dare to say any such thing? I must contradict them by being merry at their expence.

  I shall invade you in the course of the winter, out of envy, as Lucifer looked at Adam and Eve.

  Pray be as happy as you can, and write to me that I may catch the infection.

  Yours ever, Byron.

  In the volume (pp. 56-77) was printed his “Gentle Alterative prepared for the Reviewers,” which Hare apparently compared to The Pursuits of Literature (1794-97), by T. J. Mathias.

  To this criticism Byron objected, saying that the “Alterative” might be more fairly compared to Gifford’s Baviad (1794).

  176 — To the Hon. Augusta Leigh

  Newstead Abbey, Sept. 2d, 1811.

  My dear Augusta, — I wrote you a vastly dutiful letter since my answer to your second epistle, and I now write you a third, for which you have to thank Silence and Solitude. Mr. Hanson comes hither on the 14th, and I am going to Rochdale on business, but that need not prevent you from coming here, you will find Joe, and the house and the cellar and all therein very much at your Service.

  As to Lady B., when I discover one rich enough to suit me and foolish enough to have me, I will give her leave to make me miserable if she can. Money is the magnet; as to Women, one is as well as another, the older the better, we have then a chance of getting her to Heaven. So, your Spouse does not like brats better than myself; now those who beget them have no right to find fault, but I may rail with great propriety.

  My “Satire!” — I am glad it made you laugh for Somebody told me in Greece that you was angry, and I was sorry, as you were perhaps the only person whom I did not want to make angry.

  But how you will make me laugh I don’t know, for it is a vastly serious subject to me I assure you; therefore take care, or I shall hitch you into the next Edition to make up our family party. Nothing so fretful, so despicable as a Scribbler, see what I am, and what a parcel of Scoundrels I have brought about my ears, and what language I have been obliged to treat them with to deal with them in their own way; — all this comes of Authorship, but now I am in for it, and shall be at war with Grubstreet, till I find some better amusement.

  You will
write to me your Intentions and may almost depend on my being at Cambridge in October. You say you mean to be etc. in the Autumn; I should be glad to know what you call this present Season, it would be Winter in every other Country which I have seen. If we meet in October we will travel in my Vis. and can have a cage for the children and a cart for the Nurse. Or perhaps we can forward them by the Canal. Do let us know all about it, your “bright thought” is a little clouded, like the Moon in this preposterous climate.

  Good even, Child.

  Yours ever, B.

  “6 Mile Bottom, Saturday, 31 Aug.

  My dearest brother, — I hope you don’t dislike receiving letters so much as writing them, for you would in that case pronounce me a great torment. But as I prepared you in my last for its being followed very soon by another, I hope you will have reconciled your mind to the impending toil. I really wrote in such a hurry that I did not say half I wished; but I did not like to delay telling you how happy you made me by writing. I have been dwelling constantly upon the idea of going to Newstead ever since I had your wish to see me there. At last a bright thought struck me.

  We intend, I believe, to go to Yorkshire in the autumn. Now, if I could contrive to pay you a visit en passant, it would be delightful, and give me the greatest pleasure. But I fear you would be obliged to make up your mind to receive my Brats too. As for my husband, he prefers the outside of the Mail to the inside of a Post-Chaise, particularly when partly occupied by Nurse and Children, so that we always travel independent of each other.