" Tom Moore was dining, a few days ago, at the Duke of Sussex's, in Kensington Palace, when the conversation turned on Ferdinand the Seventh, and his obstinacy in continuing in his old course of action, in spite of all the illconsequences which had hitherto attended it. "I wish," said the duke, "Ferdinand was better inclined to advice.". "Why, really, please your royal highreplied Moore, I do not know what vice he has to add.” OTS 91901 Musa ness. 66 24. George Goule, the well-known blacksmith of Glammis, was, like other greater men, a little subject to the contests of bis wife, who generally exerted her power over him by assuming airs of prescience. Whenever any thing went wrong with him, the lady would say, "Aye, Geordie, that a' comes o' no takin' my counsell. I tell't it to ye afore." George grumbled sadly under this discipline, but had nothing to say against her. At last, however, a mare, sent to be shod by him late at night, was stabled in the smithy, and, in the morning, George went, as usual, to his work. He speedily returned in despair. "O, Kate, Kate," said he, "a' clean ower wi' me noo. The curst beastie o' a mare has eat up my anvil and I'm just disht for life.""Ay, Geordie," replied Kate, in her usual tone, ye wad put her in the smithy. This a comes o' no takin' my counsel. I tell't it ye afore."" The deevil ye did Kate," said the husband. “Why then, my woman, ye tell't a lie, for the anvil is no eaten ava.' Thus endeth the second dozen, which is also the third dozen: otiogio) adi abasto on Jent I tud ne 31CW Next month, unless you vote the thing a bore, " bas semanĢEOFFRY GROWLER TO JOHN BULL ON HIS SINS. ad to nodrop eil Being Considerations of Lord Byron's Chapter-Tim Tickler's Letter-The Humbugs of the Age-Dr. Kitchiner-Lord Dillon-William Farren-And an Enquiry concerning the Nature of the Cockneys.-To which is appended, a New Ballad on Magazines, to the old Tune of "When this old Cap was new? I HAVE somewhat to s say unto thee, John-were it not that I judge thee to be a good fellow, with a tolerable allowance of sense, spirit, and, above all, impudence, I should not waste any time or trouble upon thee: but, liking thy physiognomy, I would gladly lend ab finger to remove any little disfigurement, any tiney which, how ever insignificant, might still impair its beauty. Although I laughed outright at Tim Tickler's twaddling, fudge-like remonstrance, there is one reason why the chapter of that unhappy specimen of earthly corruption, Lord Byron, should not have been printed, I mean for her sake who had the misfortune to be his wife Now, John, if you are a married man (if you are not, be so good as to imagine yourself one for a few moments) how do you think Lady Byron must feel, if she knows this abominable record lies open, for the vulgar mirth of all the pot-boys, and milkmaids in London, who can read, and (laud be to Lancaster) all can? I say, John, what do you imagine may be her sensations upon learning, that the sacred secrets of her marriage-bed have become the common jest, and herself the common topic of conversation among all the giglers in this huge metropolis, the very footmen in her own family sniggering under her nose as they wait upon her? I'll tell you what, John, in my humble opinion she ought to have had you poisoned before the appearance of your next number, and even still look to yourself, John, and take care who sweetens your coffee; this is my reason for objecting to the publication of the chapter. 90303-26 24 and 1970 י. Tim Tickler is enough to make a raving methodist feel himself outdone, or the devil die of a nausea, when he talks of trampling and tearing the bare breast, and bruised heart of Lord Byron -as for the trampling, (that is, the publishing) did not the noble lord write the thing for the public? and if your tramp had been half as heavy as his own, we should have had all the foul accumulation, which years had gathered in his heart, swelling up under our nostrils, from the pressure of your hoofs; we should then have had all his blackness poured out at once, not doled out to us mercifully in doses; as for the bruises of his heart, who knows where he got them? did he know it himself? unless, indeed, they were inflicted by those insupportable misfortunes, rank, wealth, and beauty; and, finally, as for the bare breast, why Tim is certainly growing old and oblivious, or he could not have forgotten, that his lordship bared it himself long ago, in his best tragedy manner, for the inspection of all comers and goers; and God knows, no one was particularly gratified by the insight. I suppose now they will call this trampling upon the dead! but no, John, it is not the man upon whom I tread, but his sins, and I would I could crush them out from remembrance. I think, John, you have "assumed a position," as Buonaparte used to say, very like that of Ishmael in the wilderness; your hand is against every man. With all my heart, hand and foot too if you will, it will make more sport; play at foot-ball with the humbugs, there is no better fun going; kick them hard, John; your toe is a lusty one, and should have fair play, but you are hard, I must say, upon Kitchiner; and then to rate him at sixty! Truly, John, I have known him since I was a crack, and can swear, if necessary, that he is on the right side of fifty. Believe me it is a serious thing this depressing middle-aged men into elderly gentlemen; to them, John, it is certainly no joke. I wish that you had spared Kitchiner, bumbug though he be, for he had his lick some time ago from Black wood, and rough enough it was, to have fretted all the skin from his bones; it did for his works I am sure, and laid them as bare as my Lord Byron's bosom ; but the doctor, I perceive, has contrived to give his Cerberus a sop, and induced his critic to oil his tongue before the operation of any succeeding licking to be performed upon the gastronomic, astronomic, optical, musical, medical, quack of the day. Another growl at you, John, and then I believe I have done with you for the present; your rhyming reviewer, in your first, has accused Lord Dillon of writing a "bundle of havers" in the shape of a novel called "Clorinda," in one volume; such an assertion, John, proves that the reviewer had not read the book which he favors with such a sweeping condemnation, and this circumstance, in my opinion, 'savours somewhat strongly of humbug! what say you? Lord Dillon's book is called Rosaline de Vere, is in two volumes, and though his general opinions are not exactly those as by law established, or which I would wish to see pass current, yet, in spite of the shake in holy horror wise heads which innovation, there are some good seven I do not things to be found in them. that he defends the immolation of Indian women, but I know the man, and take my word for it, John, if he does, it is not only because he believes the sacrifice voluntary on the part of the victim, but also from a feeling of the most intense and painful tenderness. His notion of the mystic union of man and wife is too solemn, and too dignified, and perhaps he is led to greater lengths than he would otherwise go, by his rooted abhorrence of second marriages, which are in his eyes little less than any of the sins; but suppose he has done still worse, why should the reviewer make free with his visage, John? for the sake of the rhyme, I suppose, for if he knows any thing about it at all, he must be aware, that it is one of the handsomest in the peerage; aye, and one of the finest too. I am not sorry for the neat little tickling you have bestowed upon Farren's crabbed translations of Shakespeare, and his fathering the monstrous conceits of his own noddle upon honest Will; but, the Opium Eater's drubbing I enjoy! Foh! how sick that fellow has made me; I used to take opium myself, but he completely cured me of the fancy. I have never been able, even to endure the smell of it, since reading bis narcotic dose of a book. I thought I had done with you, for the present, but there is something else I wish to ask, as the subject seems to come particularly within your province; pray, John, (for you ought to be able to answer), what is the meaning of cockney what sort of animal really is it, or what qualities or circumstances may entitle a man to be complimented with this pleasant distinction? Does it mean living within the sound of Bowbell (as afore-time) and turning the English w into a German one, or affecting continentalities, adopting whiggism, in a small way, admiring Hampstead church, and the "primeval meadows of Kilburn," (as Charles Ollier calls them), not living in Athens, or belonging to the London, Monthly, or any other worshipful Society composing a magazine? I prithee, John, resolve me, is it any one of these seven deadly sins, or all of them together, which may damn an inhabitant, even of Grosvenorsquare, into cockneyism for ever? consummation not unlikely to happen, as I have known no trifling number of these look, with a kindly eye, upon the beauties of Cockneyshire; and prefer a drive to Hampstead or Kilburn before that everlasting horror, the Tyburn a Truly, owment of the ring! to think, the part, I sort of lam inclined these so must have the country, before that overgrown of a city, London, walked out of town to visit then. been the Lambert You said, you admitted no reviewsodka bpray except this, which is only of periodicals, and which I found written in 919 cover of an old number of the Gentleman's Magazine : Then there was another, which, great Of th' intriguing alphabet; // Who, to make their sons evil eschew, Shew them comical sights-O! such Were not, when this old book was new. 7. But, lord, what a change since then, I scarce can believe my own eyes, For new manners there must be new men, As some old big-wig cries; Your mags, are your only reading, For so full of learning they grew, You'd think they all were bleeding, Now this old book isn't new! **We have given Geoffry's epistle, song and all, as he sent it to us, being determined stand-up fighters, and never afraid of looking a facer straight in the face. First, then, as to Lady Byron. We are sure that her ladyship need not be seriously hurt by any assertions of her profligate lord; and we know no better way of silencing unfounded and eager calumny, than by actually shewing what the is thing really was which had been so much talked about. Her ladyship's character quite above imputation, and need not be afraid of the sneering of pot-boys or the sniggering of servants. Let our correspondent look at the conversations of Lord B., extracts of which are published in the Attic Miscellany, and then say whether we, who have access when we please to the Memoirs of his Life, have been severe or not in our selection. What would Geoffry think of the following bijoux, and Lord and Lady B.'s opinion as to the publication of his memoirs? LORD BYRON'S MEMOIRS. "I am quite indifferent about the world knowing all they contain. There are very few licentious adventures of my own, or scandalous adventures that will affect others, in the book. It is taken up from my earliest recollections, almost from childhood-very incoherent, written in a very loose and familiar style. There are few parts that may not, and none that will not, be read by women. Another time he said,' A very full account of my marriage and separation is contained in my memoirs. After they were completed, I wrote to Lady Byron, proposing to send them for her inspection, that any mis-statement or inaccuracy (if any such existed, which I was not aware of) might be pointed out and corrected. In her answer she declined the offer, without assigning any reason, but desiring, not on her own account, but on that of her daughter, that they might never appear, and finishing with a threat. My reply was the severest thing I ever wrote, and contained two quotations, one from Shakespeare, the other from Dante. I told her that she knew all I had written was incontrovertible truth, and that she did not wish to sanction the truth. I ended by saying that she might depend on their being published. [How gentlemanlike a peer!] It was not till after this correspondence that I made Moore the depository of the MS."" HIS MARRIAGE. "The first time of my seeing Miss Milbanke was at Lady -'s. It was a fatal day; and I remember that in going up stairs I stumbled, and remarked to Moore, who accompanied me, that it was a bad omen. I ought to have taken the warning. On entering the room I observed a young lady, more simply dressed than the rest, sitting alone upon a sofa. I took her for a humble companion, and asked Moore if I was right in my conjecture. • She is a great heiress,' said he in a whisper, that' became lower as he proceeded, • you had better marry her, and repair the old place at Newstead.' "There was something piquant, and what we term pretty, in Miss Milbanke; her features were small and feminine, though not regular. She had the fairest skin imaginable. Her figure was perfect for her height, and there was a simplicity and retired modesty about her, which were very characteristic, and formed a striking contrast to the cold artificial formality and studied stiffness of what is called fashion. She interested me exceedingly. It is unnecessary to detail the progress of our acquaintance: I became daily more attached to her, and it ended in my making her a proposal that was rejected. Her refusal was couched in terms that could not offend me. I was besides persuaded, that in declining my offer she was governed by the influence of her mother, and was the more confirmed in this opinion, by her reviving the correspondence herself twelve months after. The tenour of the letter was, that although she could not love me, she desired my friendship. Friendship is a dangerous word for young ladies. It is love full fledged, and waiting for a fine day to fly. "It had been predicted by Mrs. Williams, that 27 was to be a dangerous age to me. The fortune-telling witch was right. It was destined to prove so. I shall never forget it. Lady Byron (Burn he pronounced it) was the only unconcerned person present.Lady Noel, her mother, cried. I trembled like a leaf; made the wrong responses, and after the ceremony called her Miss Milbanke. There is a singular history attached to the ring. The very day the match was concluded, a ring of my mother's, that had been lost, was dug up by the gardener at Newstead. I thought it had been sent on purpose for the wedding; but my mother's marriage had not been a fortunate one, and this ring was doomed to be the seal of an unhappier union still. After the ordeal was over, we set off for a country-seat of Sir Ralph's, and I was surprised at the arrangements for the journey; and somewhat out of humour to find a lady's maid stuck between me and my bride: It was rather too early to assume the husband, and I was forced to submit, but with a very bad grace. Put yourself in my situation, and tell me whether I had not some reason to be in the sulks." HIS DEPARTURE FROM LADY BYRON. "Our honey-moon was not all sunshine. It had its clouds; and Hobhouse has some letters which would serve to explain the rise and fall in the barometer; but it was never down at zero. You tell me the world says I married Miss Milbanke for her fortune, because she was a great heiress. All I have ever received, or am likely to receive, was 10,000. My own income at this period was small, and somewhat bespoke. Newstead was a very unprofitable estate, and brought me in a bare 1500l. ayear. The Lancashire property was hampered with a law-suit, which has cost me 14,000, and is not yet finished. We had a house in town, gave dinner-parties, had separate carriages, and launched into every sort of extravagance, This could not last long. My wife's 10,000l. soon melted away. I was beset by duns, and at length an execution was levied, and the bailiffs put in possession of the very beds we had to sleep upon. This was no very agreeable state of affairs, no very pleasant scene for Lady Byron to witness: and it was agreed, she should pay her father a visit till the storm had blown over, and some arrangements been made with my creditors. You may suppose on what terms we parted, from the style of a letter she wrote me on the road. You will think it begun ridiculously enough: 'Dear Duck,' &c. Imagine my astonishment to receive immediately on her arrival, a few lines from her father, of a very unlike, and very unaffectionate nature, beginning, and ending with saying, that his daughter should never see me again. In my reply, I disclaimed his authority as a parent over my wife; and told him, I was convinced the sentiments expressed were his, not her's. Another post, however, brought me a confirmation, under her own hand and seal, of her father's sentence. I afterwards learned from Fletcher, my valet, whose wife was at that time femme de chambre to Lady Byron, that after her definitive resolution was taken, and the fatal letter consigned to the post-office, she sent to withdraw it, and was in hysterics of joy that it was not too late. It seems, however, that they did not last long, or that she was afterwards over-persuaded to forward it. There can be no doubt that the influence of her enemies prevailed over her affection for me. You ask me if no cause was assigned for this sudden resolution if I formed no conjecture about the cause? I will tell you, I have prejudices about women, I do not like to see them eat. Rousseau makes Julie un peu gourmande, but that is not at all according to my taste. I do not like to be interrupted when I am writing. Lady Byron did not attend to these whims of mine. One evening, short Sir,' |