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Captain Medwin's Journal makes him speak as follows:am sorry not to have a copy of my Memoirs to show you. gave them to Moore, or rather to Moore's little boy.»1

. I remember saying, 'Here are two thousand pounds for you, my young friend.'. I made one reservation in the giftthat they were not to be published till after my death.»

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I have not the least objection to their being circulated; in fact they have been read by some of mine, and several of Moore's friends and acquaintances; among others they were lent to Lady Burghersh. On returning the manuscript, her ladyship told Moore that she had transcribed the whole work. This was un peu fort, and he suggested the propriety of her destroying the copy. She did so, by putting it into the fire in his presence. Ever since this happened, Douglas Kinnaird has been recommending me to resume possession of the manuscript, thinking to frighten me by saying, that a spurious or a real copy, surreptitiously obtained, may go forth to the world. I am quite indifferent about the world knowing all that they contain. There are very few licentious adventures of my own, or scandalous anecdotes 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. The second part will prove a good lesson to young men ; for it treats of the irregular life I led at one period, and the fatal consequences of dissipation. There are few parts that may not, and none that will not, be read by women."

In this particular Lord Byron's fate has been singular; and a superstitious person might be startled at the coincidence of so many causes, all tending to hide his character from the public. That scandal and envy should have been at work

There is some trifling inaccuracy in this, as Moore's son was not with him in Italy. It is nevertheless true, as we are assured, that this was the turn which Lord Byron gave to his present, in order to make it more acceptable to his friend.

with such a man is not very extraordinary; but the burning of his Memoirs, and the subsequent injunction on the publication of his Letters to his Mother, seem as if something more than mere chance had operated to preserve unconfuted the calumnies of the day, for the benefit of future biographers. Of these Letters a friend of ours was fortunate enough to obtain a glimpse, and never, he told us, was more innocent, and at the same time more valuable matter, so withheld from the world. It were, he observed, but an act of cold justice to the memory of Lord Byron to state, publicly, that they appear the reflections of as generous a mind as ever committed its expression to ́paper: for though, indeed, the traces of his temperament, and of his false position in society, are there, still the sentiments are lofty and enthusiastic; and every line betrays the warmest sympathy with human suffering, and a scornful indignation against mean and disgraceful vice.

The extempore song, addressed by Lord Byron to Mr Moore, on the latter's last visit to Italy, proves the familiar intercourse and friendship that subsisted between him and the subject of this memoir. The following stanzas are very expressive:

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Were't the last drop in the well,

As I gasp'd upon the brink,

Ere my fainting spirit fell,

'T is to thee that I would drink.

In that water, as this wine,
The libation I would pour

Should be-Peace to thine and mine,

And a health to thee, Tom Moore !

When Lord Byron had published his celebrated satire of English Bards and Scotch Reviewers,» in which our poet, in common with most of his distinguished contemporaries was visited rather « too roughly» by the noble modern Juvenal, his lordship expected to be « called out,» as the fashion

able phrase is, but no one had courage to try his prowess in the field, save Mr Moore, who did not relish the joke about Little's leadless pistols," and sent a letter to his lordship in the nature of a challenge, but which he, by his leaving the country, did not receive. On Byron's return, Mr Moore made inquiry if he had received the epistle, and stated that, on account of certain changes in his circumstances, he wished to recal it, and become the friend of Byron, through Rogers, the author of « The Pleasures of Memory," and who was intimate with both the distinguished bards. The letter, addressed to the care of Mr Hanson, had been mislaid; search was made for it, and Byron, who at first did not like this offer, of one hand with a pistol, and the other to shake in fellowship, felt very awkward. On the letter being recovered, however, he delivered it unopened to Mr Moore, and they afterwards continued to the last most particular friends.

It is but justice to the unquestionable courage and spirited conduct of the Bard of Erin, to observe here, that, though Byron had stated the truth about the said «leadless pistols," he had not stated the whole truth. The facts were these: Mr Jeffrey, the celebrated critic, and editor of the Edinburgh Review, had, in « good set phrase,» abused the Poems of Thomas Little, Esq., alias Thomas Moore, Esq.; and the latter, not chusing to put up with the flagellation of the then modern Aristarchus, challenged him. When they arrived at Chalk Farm, the place fixed on for the duel, the police were ready, and deprived them of their fire-arms. On drawing their contents, the compound of villanous saltpetre » was found, but the cold lead,

The pious metal most in requisition

On such occasions,

had somehow disappeared. The cause was this: One of the balls had fallen out in the carriage, and the seconds, with a laudable anxiety to preserve the public peace, to save the

shedding of such valuable blood, and to make both equal, drew the other ball.

In his youth Mr Moore was in the high road to court favour, and had his spirit been less independent, we might even have had a Sir Thomas More in our days. It is said that when the juvenile Anacreon was introduced to the then Prince of Wales, His Royal Highness inquired of him whether he was a son of Dr Moore, the celebrated author of Zeluco; and that the bard promptly replied, « No, Sir;. I am the son of a grocer at Dublin !»

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The following anecdote shows that His Majesty King George the Fourth did not forget to pay off the Prince of Wales's old score» with our poet: In the king's presence, a critic, speaking of the « Life of Sheridan," declared that Moore had murdered his friend. You are too severe," said his Majesty, << I cannot admit that Mr Moore has murdered Sheridan, but he has certainly attempted his life.»

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It was not till after the Prince of Wales's in vestment with regal power, that Mr Moore levelled the keen shafts of his « grey goose quill» against that illustrious personage. He had previously dedicated the translation of Anacreon to His Royal Highness, by whom, it is said, his poetry was much admired. We question, though, if his verse was as palatable to the Prince Regent as it had been to the Prince of Wales. Mr Moore, perhaps, thought as one of his predecessors had done on this subject, of whom the following anecdote is recorded. Pope, dining one day with Frederic, Prince of Wales, paid the prince many compliments. «I wonder," said His Royal Highness, that you, who are so severe on kings, should be so complaisant to me.» «It is," replied the witty bard, « because I like the lion before his claws are grown.»

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The name of Anacreon Moore, by which our author is distinguished, is not so much his due from the mere circumstance of his having translated the odes of the Teian bard, as from the social qualities which he is known to possess, and

the convivial spirit of his muse. Mr Moore seems to be of opinion, that

If with water you fill up your glasses,
You'll never write any thing wise
For wine is the horse of Parnassus,
Which hurries a bard to the skies.

He is not, however, ungrateful for whatever share conviviality may have had in inspiring his muse, but has amply acknowledged it in the elegant and glowing terms in which he has celebrated its praises. No individual presides with more grace at the convivial board, nor is there one whose absence is more liable to be regretted by his friends.

Being on one occasion prevented from attending a banquet where he was an expected guest, and where, in consequence, every thing seemed (to use a familiar phrase) out of sorts, a gentleman, in the fervour of his disappointment, exclaimed, « Give us but one Anacreon more, ye gods, whatever else you deny us."

Presiding once at a tavern dinner, where some of the company were complaining that there was no game at the table, a gentleman present, alluding to the fascinating manners of Mr Moore, who « kept the table in a roar,” said, « Why, gentlemen, what better game would you wish than moor game, of which I am sure you have abundance?»>

At another time, after the pleasures of the evening had been extended to a pretty late hour, Mr D. proposed, as a concluding bumper, the health of Mr Moore; a toast which, having been twice drank in the course of the evening, was objected to as unnecessary. Mr D., however, persisted in giving the toast; and quoted in support of it the following passage from Mr Moore's translation of the eighth ode of Anacreon. « Let us drink it now," said he,

For death may come with brow unpleasant,
May come when least we wish him present,
And beckon to the sable shore,

And grimly bid us-drink no More!