Royal Highness; I twice dined at Carlton House; and I made one of the fifteen hundred envied guests at the prince's grand fête in 1815!'

In 1811 Moore made a first and last appearance before the world as a dramatist, by the production at the Lyceum theatre of an operatic piece called An M.P.; or the Blue Stocking.' It was emphatically damned, notwithstanding two or three pleasing songs, which somewhat redeemed its dull and vapid impertinence. The very pretty song of 'Young Love lived once in an humble shed' occurs in this piece. Moore's acquaintance with Leigh Hunt dates from the acting of the 'Blue Stocking.' Mr Hunt was at the time editor of the 'Examiner' newspaper, in which he had just before paid some compliments to Moore's poetry; and the nervous dramatist, naturally anxious to propitiate a critic whose opinion was esteemed oracular in certain circles, wrote him a rather fulsome letter, in which he set forth, as an ad misericordiam plea for lenient judgment, that he had rashly been induced to promise Arnold a piece for his theatre, in consequence of the state of attenuation to which the purses of poets are proverbially liable. The 'M.P.' was, as we have said, condemned, and Esop's disappointed fox received another illustration. 'Writing bad jokes,' quoth Mr Moore, for the Lyceum to make the galleries laugh is in itself sufficiently degrading; but to try to make them laugh, and fail to do so, is indeed deplorable.' In sooth, to make ‘galleries' either laugh or weep was never Mr Moore's aim or vocation. His eye was ever fixed upon the gay company of the boxes,' occasionally only glancing apprehensively aside from its flattering homage to scan the faces of the sour critics of the pit. And yet to make the galleries of the theatre and the world laugh has tasked and evidenced wit and humour, in comparison with which the gayest sallies, the most sparkling of Mr Moore's fancies, are vapidity itself. The mortified dramatist gave up play-writing for ever, or, as he contemptuously expressed it,' made a hearty abjuration of the stage and all its heresies of pun, equivoque, and clap-trap.' He was wise in doing so. The discretion evinced by the hasty retreat was only exceeded by the rashness of the venture.

The intimacy of Thomas Moore and Leigh Hunt continued for some years. Moore, in company with Lord Byron, dined once or twice with Hunt in prison during his confinement for a pretended libel upon the regent. A pertinent anecdote, throwing some light on Byron's sneer respecting Moore's love of lords, is told of one of these visits. The three friends, Byron, Moore, and Hunt, were walking before dinner in the prison garden, when a shower of rain came on, and Moore ran into the house, and up stairs, leaving his companions to follow as they best might. Consciousness of the discourtesy of such behaviour towards his noble companion quickly flashed upon him, and he was overwhelmed with confusion. Mr Hunt tried to console him. I quite forgot at the moment,' said Moore,' whom I was walking with; but I was forced to remember it by his not coming up. I could not in decency go on, and to return was awkward.' This anxiety-on account of Byron's lameness-Mr Hunt remarks, appeared to him very amiable.

This friendship came to an abrupt and unpleasant close. Lord Byron agreed with Hunt and Shelley to start a new periodical, to be called 'The Liberal,' the profits of which were to go to Leigh Hunt. Byron's parody

on Southey's 'Vision of Judgment' appeared in it, and ultimately William Hazlitt became a contributor. Moore immediately became alarmed for his noble friend's character, which he thought would be compromised by his connection with Hunt and Hazlitt, and wrote to entreat him to withdraw himself from a work which had 'a taint in it,' and from association with men upon whom society 'had set a mark.' His prayer was complied with, and the two last-named gentlemen were very angry, as well they might be. There has been a good deal of crimination and recrimination between the parties on the subject, not at all worth reproducing. The truth is that both Hunt and Hazlitt, but especially the latter, were at the time under the ban of influential society and a then powerful Tory press; and Moore, with his usual prudence, declining to be mad-dog'd in their company and for their sakes, deliberately cut two such extreme Radicals, and induced his noble friend to do likewise. How could a prudent man who had given hostages to fortune, which Moore by this time had, in a wife and children, act otherwise?

Moore had long cherished a hope of allying his poetry with the expressive music of Ireland; of giving appropriate vocal utterance to the strains which had broken fitfully from out the tumults and tramplings of centuries of unblest rule. A noble task! in which even partial success demands great powers and deserves high praise. The execution of the long-meditated design now commenced; and the 'Melodies,' as they appeared, obtained immense and well-deserved popularity. It is upon these his fame as a poet will mainly rest; and no one can deny that, as a whole, they exhibit great felicity of expression, and much graceful tenderness of thought and feeling, frequently relieved by flashes of gay and genial wit and humour. No one could be more keenly aware, or could more gracefully acknowledge than Moore, the great help to a poet's present reputation of connecting his verse with national or local associations. He instances in proof of its value the popularity in Bermuda of a song comparatively valueless in itself-a popularity owing to its association with a well-known tree growing near Walsingham in that group of islets

''Twas there in the shade of the calabash tree,

With a few who could feel and remember like me,' &c.

Mr Dudley Costello brought him home a goblet, the inscription on which states that it was formed of one of the fruit-shells of the tree which he had rendered famous, and which now bears his name. But it must be confessed that this kind of appreciative association, however gratifying to an author's vanity, or decisive of present success, is but a frail, unpromising plank to float down to posterity upon. If the poetry of a song is only remembered because it recalls local incidents, or objects, or memories, its power must be a very confined and fleeting one. The man who had sung or heard Moore's song under the calabash tree, if a sojourner in distant lands, would dwell upon its words and air with pleasure for no other reason than because he had so sung or heard them; but not so his son-not so his descendants: it must for them have a distinct self-existent beauty of its own, or it will pass from their lips and language. If, therefore, Moore's songs are, as we are frequently told, to perpetuate the music and poetry and romance of Ireland in distant climes, it must be for some

Royal Highness; I twice dined at Carlton House; and I made one of the fifteen hundred envied guests at the prince's grand fête in 1815 !'

In 1811 Moore made a first and last appearance before the world as a dramatist, by the production at the Lyceum theatre of an operatic piece called An M.P.; or the Blue Stocking.' It was emphatically damned, notwithstanding two or three pleasing songs, which somewhat redeemed its dull and vapid impertinence. The very pretty song of 'Young Love lived once in an humble shed' occurs in this piece. Moore's acquaintance with Leigh Hunt dates from the acting of the 'Blue Stocking.' Mr Hunt was at the time editor of the 'Examiner' newspaper, in which he had just before paid some compliments to Moore's poetry; and the nervous dramatist, naturally anxious to propitiate a critic whose opinion was esteemed oracular in certain circles, wrote him a rather fulsome letter, in which he set forth, as an ad misericordiam plea for lenient judgment, that he had rashly been induced to promise Arnold a piece for his theatre, in consequence of the state of attenuation to which the purses of poets are proverbially liable. The 'M.P.' was, as we have said, condemned, and Esop's disappointed fox received another illustration. 'Writing bad jokes,' quoth Mr Moore, for the Lyceum to make the galleries laugh is in itself sufficiently degrading; but to try to make them laugh, and fail to do so, is indeed deplorable.' In sooth, to make galleries' either laugh or weep was never Mr Moore's aim or vocation. His eye was ever fixed upon the gay company of the boxes,' occasionally only glancing apprehensively aside from its flattering homage to scan the faces of the sour critics of the pit. And yet to make the galleries of the theatre and the world laugh has tasked and evidenced wit and humour, in comparison with which the gayest sallies, the most sparkling of Mr Moore's fancies, are vapidity itself. The mortified dramatist gave up play-writing for ever, or, as he contemptuously expressed it, 'made a hearty abjuration of the stage and all its heresies of pun, equivoque, and clap-trap.' He was wise in doing so. The discretion evinced by the hasty retreat was only exceeded by the rashness of the venture.

6

The intimacy of Thomas Moore and Leigh Hunt continued for some years. Moore, in company with Lord Byron, dined once or twice with Hunt in prison during his confinement for a pretended libel upon the regent. A pertinent anecdote, throwing some light on Byron's sneer respecting Moore's love of lords, is told of one of these visits. The three friends, Byron, Moore, and Hunt, were walking before dinner in the prison garden, when a shower of rain came on, and Moore ran into the house, and up stairs, leaving his companions to follow as they best might. Consciousness of the discourtesy of such behaviour towards his noble companion quickly flashed upon him, and he was overwhelmed with confusion. Mr Hunt tried to console him. I quite forgot at the moment,' said Moore, whom I was walking with; but I was forced to remember it by his not coming up. I could not in decency go on, and to return was awkward.' This anxiety-on account of Byron's lameness-Mr Hunt remarks, appeared to him very amiable.

6

This friendship came to an abrupt and unpleasant close. Lord Byron agreed with Hunt and Shelley to start a new periodical, to be called 'The Liberal,' the profits of which were to go to Leigh Hunt. Byron's parody

on Southey's 'Vision of Judgment' appeared in it, and ultimately William Hazlitt became a contributor. Moore immediately became alarmed for his noble friend's character, which he thought would be compromised by his connection with Hunt and Hazlitt, and wrote to entreat him to withdraw himself from a work which had 'a taint in it,' and from association with men upon whom society 'had set a mark.' His prayer was complied with, and the two last-named gentlemen were very angry, as well they might be. There has been a good deal of crimination and recrimination between the parties on the subject, not at all worth reproducing. The truth is that both Hunt and Hazlitt, but especially the latter, were at the time under the ban of influential society and a then powerful Tory press; and Moore, with his usual prudence, declining to be mad-dog'd in their company and for their sakes, deliberately cut_two such extreme Radicals, and induced his noble friend to do likewise. How could a prudent man who had given hostages to fortune, which Moore by this time had, in a wife and children, act otherwise?

Moore had long cherished a hope of allying his poetry with the expressive music of Ireland; of giving appropriate vocal utterance to the strains which had broken fitfully from out the tumults and tramplings of centuries of unblest rule. A noble task! in which even partial success demands great powers and deserves high praise. The execution of the long-meditated design now commenced; and the 'Melodies,' as they appeared, obtained immense and well-deserved popularity. It is upon these his fame as a poet will mainly rest; and no one can deny that, as a whole, they exhibit great felicity of expression, and much graceful tenderness of thought and feeling, frequently relieved by flashes of gay and genial wit and humour. No one could be more keenly aware, or could more gracefully acknowledge than Moore, the great help to a poet's present reputation of connecting his verse with national or local associations. He instances in proof of its value the popularity in Bermuda of a song comparatively valueless in itself a popularity owing to its association with a well-known tree growing near Walsingham in that group of islets

''Twas there in the shade of the calabash tree,

With a few who could feel and remember like me,' &c.

Mr Dudley Costello brought him home a goblet, the inscription on which states that it was formed of one of the fruit-shells of the tree which he had rendered famous, and which now bears his name. But it must be confessed that this kind of appreciative association, however gratifying to an author's vanity, or decisive of present success, is but a frail, unpromising plank to float down to posterity upon. If the poetry of a song is only remembered because it recalls local incidents, or objects, or memories, its power must be a very confined and fleeting one. The man who had sung or heard Moore's song under the calabash tree, if a sojourner in distant lands, would dwell upon its words and air with pleasure for no other reason than because he had so sung or heard them; but not so his son-not so his descendants: it must for them have a distinct self-existent beauty of its own, or it will pass from their lips and language. If, therefore, Moore's songs are, as we are frequently told, to perpetuate the music and poetry and romance of Ireland in distant climes, it must be for some

subject of the apprehended conspiracy by Lord Chancellor Clare, who insisted upon compelling a disclosure, upon oath, of any knowledge the students of the university might possess of the persons and plans of the plotters. Moore at first declined being sworn, alleging in excuse that he had never taken an oath, and although perfectly unconscious himself of offence against the government, that he might unwittingly compromise others. This odd excuse Lord Clare, after consulting with Duigenan, famous for his anti-papist polemics, declined to receive, and Moore was sworn. Three or four questions were asked as to his knowledge of any conspiracy to overthrow the government by violence; and these briefly answered, the matter ended. This is Mr Moore's own version of a scene which has been rendered in various amusing and exaggerated forms.

The precocity of Moore's rhyming genius had been also exemplified by a sonnet, written when he was only fourteen years of age, and inserted in a Dublin magazine called 'The Anthologia.' Two or three years later he composed a Masque, which was performed by himself, his elder sister, and some young friends, in the little drawing-room over the shop in Augier Street, a friend, afterwards a celebrated musician, enacting orchestra on the pianoforte. One of the songs of the masque was written to the air of Haydn's Spirit Song, and obtained great applause. Master Moore belonged, moreover, to a band of gay spirits who occasionally amused themselves by a visit to Dalkey, a small island in the Bay of Dublin, electing one Stephen Armitage, a respectable pawnbroker, and 'very agreeable singer,' King of that Ilk. On one of these coronation days King Stephen conferred the honour of knighthood upon Incledon, with the title of Sir Charles Melody; and he created Miss Battier, a rhyming lady, Henrietta, Countess of Laurel, and His Majesty's Poetess-Laureate. The working laureate was, however, Master Moore, and in that capacity he first tried his hand at political squibbing, by launching some not very brilliant sarcasms against governments in general. Lord Clare, we are told, was half alarmed at this Dalkey court and its poets, and insisted upon an explanation from one of the mock officials. This is, however, we believe, a fable, though at the time a current one.

In 1799, being then only in his twentieth year, Thomas Moore arrived in London for the purpose of entering himself of the Middle Temple, and publishing his translation of the Odes of Anacreon. He had already obtained the friendship of Earl Moira, and that nobleman procured him permission to dedicate the work to the Prince of Wales. His poetical career may now be said to have fairly commenced. It was a long and brilliant one, most of his works having rapidly passed through numerous editions, and been perhaps more extensively read than those of any contemporary author, always excepting the romances of Scott. There can be no reasonable doubt that Moore owed much of this popularity and success> to the accident of his position, and the favouring circumstances of the times in which he wrote. The enfant gaté of high and influential circles, as well. as the melodious expositor and poet-champion of the wrongs of a nation to whose glorious music he has happily, for himself, married much of his sweetest verse, he dwelt in a peculiar and irradiating atmosphere, which greatly enhanced his real magnitude and brightness. Even now, when the deceptive medium has lost its influence, it is somewhat difficult, and may