The journey-as his letters from Chester on one occasion, and on his arrival in town on another, show-was dilatory and costly. Every fresh delay was a fresh demand upon his scantily-supplied purse, and a fresh wound on his homeand parent-loving heart. But the rapidity and brilliancy of his progress in the society of London take himself and the reader by surprise. Every new friend brings another. Every fresh introduction procures a second. His musical and poetical talent secures him an entrée, which his subsequently-discovered worth, and wit, and knowledge, continually deepens into intimacy. But the great lack is the absence of indispensable, omnipotent cash. Dinners do not furnish breakfasts; routs do not supply coach-hire; musical entertainments will not be made to pay lodging and laundry. But hope was wonderfully active with him, and on apparently very good ground. The future promised to pay the bills drawn on the present. His talents were sure (it was declared) to command success and bread. The first (which can, however, be waited for) they had already commanded; the second (which, unhappily, cannot be waited for) is what they did not yet secure. Nevertheless, the dear mother's thin purse at home, slightly distended by great effort and sparing, to be reduced again immediately to its former size for her absent boy, and a good uncle if we remember aright, and perhaps a patient and believing tradesman or two, and a good-natured friend who "happens to have it about him," hold young Moore's head above water, as they have done many a less and few more deserving youths, until the golden showers begin slowly to gather and sparingly to distil in Paternoster-row, and a few short years more of struggling (taking to their alleviation and relief, of course, a young wife and a small family in the interim), see at length independence throned upon the top of his quill; booksellers entreating; author hesitating; bankers honoring; the public devouring; and the poet and his young family eating the bread of industry, but with painfulness and care.

But all this was not to be gained in holiday-keeping London. Any writing which gains a man his bread is very hard work, the hardest perhaps that there is. Moore did not want or relish such a life in itself. It was not at all his ideal. He was, however, fit for no profession, ex

cept that of pleasing and instructing mankind. The only permanent means of support that he could look for would be some one out of the many-some small one out of the great and little-good things, which were at the disposal of his grand associates. This was the hope of his future-it might be realized this year or this decade. No one knew. "The darkest day-live till to-morrow-will have passed away." This Moore, as much as any man, believed. But then, he had to live till to-morrow. That was his problem in the meantime. This living till to-morrow, he saw better than most poets, could only be accomplished independently and honourably by working to-day. He accordingly fled the distractions and engagements of town and society, and betook himself to a cottage in Derbyshire. This cottage (or its successor) was hard by a palace, and this palace contained within in it an excellent library and a hospitable dinner-table. Here then the books and the society-some presence of which was essential to Moore's industry and happiness-were furnished in useful and stimulating, not in oppressive or distracting, amounts. Lord Moira left the poet the free run of his library, even in his own absence; and thus he spent whole mornings, walking back to his humble home and affectionate wife each afternoon when his task was done, just as previously, while residing in London, he had resorted to the same hospitable mansion, and stayed in it for weeks together by himself. No mention of these circumstances occurs in the present volumes more hearty or interesting to our minds, than that which we find in the preface to the 7th vol. of his collected Works:

"Among my earlier poetic writings, more than one grateful memorial may be found of the happy days I passed in this hospitable mansion

Of all my sunny morns and moonlight nights
On Donington's green lawns and breezy heights.'

But neither verse nor prose could do any justice to the sort of impression I still retain of those long-vanished days. The library at Donington was extensive and valuable; and through the privilege kindly granted to me of retiring thither for study, even when the family were absent, I frequently passed whole weeks alone in that fine library, indulging in all the first airy castle-building of author ship. The various projects, indeed, of future works that used then

to pass in fruitless succession through my mind, can be compared only to the waves, as described by the poet

'And one no sooner touch'd the shore and died,
Than a new follower rose.'

With that library is also connected another of my earlier poems, the verses addressed to the Duke of Montpensier on his portrait of the Lady Adelaide Forbes; for it was there that this truly noble lady, then in the first dawn of her beauty, used to sit for that picture; while in another part of the library, the Duke of Orleansengaged generally at that time with a volume of Clarendon-was by such studies unconsciously preparing himself for the high and arduous destiny, which not only the good genius of France, but his own sagacious and intrepid spirit, had early marked out for him."

The "Lalla Rookh," as well as other subsequent works in prose and verse, is based upon the results of arduous study. In truth, the light-hearted writer of levities, Thomas Moore, was a student only less laborious and varied than Robert Southey. Even his lightest turns and touches (strange as such things appear to those who do not know that the very ease, and simplicity, and perspicuity, which seem so natural and unstudied are for the most part only produced by the greatest labour) demanded hours of thought and experiment. The restless walk to and fro in his garden betokened the labouring mind within, and might end in nothing, after a whole morning's effort, but some happy half-line, fortunate even if rewarded thus. Such is the ease with which melodies are composed! Such the facility with which those who write for the public win their bread! Besides his longer work-the "Lalla Rookh," for which he received 30007.-he had a kind of standing order for songs from the Powers, reckoned at about 500l. a-year. He turned society and observation, as well as solitude and study, to the same purpose, though in a different form. At the houses of the Whig aristocracy he heard of the party manoeuvres, hopes, jokes, and disappointments; of the last new trick of the Prince; of the last tear of Lord Eldon; of the last argument and conspiracy against liberal measures; and turned them all into the most effective thrusts at the enemy that it was possible to conceive, filling his Whig friends with radiant joy, the Tory Ministers with mortification and annoyance, and convulsing the public with unmitigated and irrepressible

laughter. These squibs and satires were in the mouths and memories of thousands of people the morning after they appeared, just as the songs of the same charming poet were on their lips and hearts in the evening.

Indeed, he turned every opportunity and experience of life to account. After the honey of "Lalla Rookh" was well jarred, a visit to Paris supplied him with some charming lemon-juice in the form of the “Fudge Family,” to qualify the lusciousness of that somewhat over-sweet per

formance.

The preface from which we have already quoted, furnishes us with an account of the immediate origin of the "Fudge Family."

"The success (far exceeding my hopes and deserts) with which 'Lalla Rookh' was immediately crowned, relieved me at once from the anxious feeling of responsibility under which, as my readers have seen, that enterprise had been commenced, and which continued some time to haunt me amidst all the enchantments of my task. I was, therefore, in the true holiday mood, when a dear friend, with whose name are associated some of the brightest and pleasantest hours of my life*, kindly offered me a seat in his carriage for a short visit to Paris. This proposal I, of course, most gladly accepted; and, in the autumn of the year 1817, found myself, for the first time, in that gay capital. As the restoration of the Bourbon dynasty was still of too recent a date for any amalgamation to have taken place between the new and ancient order of things, all the most prominent features of both régimes were just then brought, in their fullest relief, into juxtaposition; and accordingly, the result was such as to suggest to an unconcerned spectator quite as abundant matter for ridicule as for grave political consideration.”—“To me, the abundant amusement and interest which such a scene could not but afford, was a good deal heightened by my having, in my youthful days, been made acquainted with some of those personages who were now most interested in the future success of the legitimate cause. The Comte d'Artois, or Monsieur, I had met in the year 1802-3, at Donington Park, the seat of the Earl of Moira, under whose princely roof I used often and long, in those days, to find a most hospitable home. A small party of distinguished French emigrants were already staying on a visit in the house when Monsieur and his suite arrived; and among those were the present King of France and his two brothers, the Duc de Montpensier, and the Comte de Beaujolais. Some doubt and uneasiness had, I remember, been felt by the two latter brothers, as to the reception • Mr. Rogers.

they were likely to encounter from the new guest; and as, in those times, a cropped and unpowdered head was regarded generally as a symbol of Jacobinism, the Comte Beaujolais, who, like many other young men, wore his hair in this fashion, thought it on the present occasion most prudent, in order to avoid all risk of offence, not only to put powder in his hair, but also to provide himself with an arti ficial queue. This measure of precaution, however, led to a slight incident after dinner, which, though not very royal or dignified, was, at least, creditable to the social good humour of the future Charles X. On the departure of the ladies from the dining-room, we had hardly seated ourselves in the old-fashioned style, round the fire, when Monsieur, who had happened to place himself next to Beaujolais, caught a glimpse of the ascititious tail, which, having been rather carelessly put on, had a good deal straggled out of its place. With a sort of scream of jocular pleasure, as if delighted at the discovery, Monsieur seized the stray appendage, and, bringing it round into full view, to the great amusement of the whole company, popped it into poor grinning Beaujolais' mouth."

Notwithstanding the many assuaging ministrations which his lot received from the attention of Lords and the remittances of Publishers, Moore felt that his mode of life was too precarious, too anxious, too laborious and wearying to be contemplated as desirable in itself or as a permanence. His desire was undiminished therefore to obtain some post from his friends, when, by their participation in government or influence with it, they should have it in their power to assign him a suitable one. The Laureateship he declined as insufficient, and likely, if it were accepted, to be regarded as a settling of his claims. A Judgeship in Bermuda, the province of which was to make award in cases of prize-capture, expecting that it would be tolerably lucrative, he had accepted early in life, but finding that the former duties and emoluments of the office had been divided with the other places, and that in their reduced form they gave him neither enough to do, nor enough to live upon, he returned to England, leaving his office in the charge of a deputy. This deputy was subsequently guilty of malversation and peculation, and, absconding, left Moore responsible for a serious sum (the claim at first £6000 was after much arbitration reduced to £1000) which he had never received. While this affair was pending, he was obliged to retire into France with his wife and family-for though the office was accepted before