Chapter XLIII: Introduction: To the Blues

Byron's correspondence does not explain the mood in which he wrote _The Blues_, or afford the slightest hint or clue to its _motif_ or occasion. In a letter to Murray, dated Ravenna, August 7, 1821, he writes, "I send you a thing which I scribbled off yesterday, a mere buffoonery, to quiz 'The Blues.' If published it must be _anonymously_.... You may send me a proof if you think it worth the trouble." Six weeks later, September 20, he had changed his mind. "You need not," he says, "send _The Blues_, which is a mere buffoonery not meant for publication." With these intimations our knowledge ends, and there is nothing to show why in August, 1821, he took it into his head "to quiz The Blues," or why, being so minded, he thought it worth while to quiz them in so pointless and belated a fashion. We can but guess that an allusion in a letter from England, an incident at a conversazione at Ravenna, or perhaps the dialogues in Peacock's novels, _Melincourt_ and _Nightmare Abbey_, brought to his recollection the half-modish, half-literary coteries of the earlier years of the Regency, and that he sketches the scenes and persons of his eclogue not from life, but from memory.

In the Diary of 1813, 1814, there is more than one mention of the "Blues." For instance, November 27, 1813, he writes, "Sotheby is a _Littérateur_, the oracle of the Coteries of the * *'s, Lydia White (Sydney Smith's 'Tory Virgin'), Mrs. Wilmot (she, at least, is a swan, and might frequent a purer stream), Lady Beaumont and all the Blues, with Lady Charlemont at their head." Again on December 1, "To-morrow there is a party _purple_ at the 'blue' Miss Berry's. Shall I go? um!--I don't much affect your blue-bottles;--but one ought to be civil.... Perhaps that blue-winged Kashmirian butterfly of book-learning Lady Charlemont will be there" (see _Letters_, 1898, ii. 333, 358, note 2).

Byron was, perhaps, a more willing guest at literary entertainments than he professed to be. "I met him," says Sir Walter Scott (_Memoirs of the Life, etc._, 1838, ii. 167), "frequently in society.... Some very agreeable parties I can recollect, particularly one at Sir George Beaumont's, where the amiable landlord had assembled some persons distinguished for talent. Of these I need only mention the late Sir Humphry Davy.... Mr. Richard Sharpe and Mr. Rogers were also present."

Again, Miss Berry, in her _Journal_ (1866, in. 49) records, May 8, 1815, that "Lord and Lady Byron persuaded me to go with them to Miss [Lydia] White (_vide post_, p. 587). Never have I seen a more imposing convocation of ladies arranged in a circle than when we entered ... Lord Byron brought me home. He stayed to supper." If he did not affect "your blue-bottles," he was on intimate terms with Madame de Staël, "the _Begum_ of Literature," as Moore called her; with the Contessa d'Albrizzi (the De Staël of Italy); with Mrs. Wilmot, the inspirer of "She walks in beauty like the night;" with Mrs. Shelley; with Lady Blessington. Moreover, to say nothing of his "mathematical wife," who was as "blue as ether," the Countess Guiccioli could not only read and "inwardly digest" _Corinna_ (see letter to Moore, January 2, 1820), but knew the _Divina Commedia_ by heart, and was a critic as well as an inspirer of her lover's poetry.

If it is difficult to assign a reason or occasion for the composition of _The Blues_, it is a harder, perhaps an impossible, task to identify all the _dramatis personæ_. Botherby, Lady Bluemount, and Miss Diddle are, obviously, Sotheby, Lady Beaumont, and Lydia White. Scamp the Lecturer may be Hazlitt, who had incurred Byron's displeasure by commenting on his various and varying estimates of Napoleon (see _Lectures on the English Poets_, 1818, p. 304, and _Don Juan_, Canto 1. stanza ii. line 7, note to Buonaparte). Inkel seems to be meant for Byron himself, and Tracy, a friend, _not_ a Lake poet, for Moore. Sir Richard and Lady Bluebottle may possibly symbolize Lord and Lady Holland; and Miss Lilac is, certainly, Miss Milbanke, the "Annabella" of Byron's courtship, not the "moral Clytemnestra" of his marriage and separation.

_The Blues_ was published anonymously in the third number of the _Liberal_, which appeared April 26, 1823. The "Eclogue" was not attributed to Byron, and met with greater contempt than it deserved. In the _Noctes Ambrosiance_ (Blackwood's _Edinburgh Magazine_, May, 1823, vol. xiii. p. 607), the third number of the _Liberal_ is dismissed with the remark, "The last Number contains not one _line_ of Byron's! Thank God! he has seen his error, and kicked them out." Brief but contemptuous notices appeared in the _Literary Chronicle_, April 26, and the _Literary Gazette_, May 3, 1823; while a short-lived periodical, named the _Literary Register_ (May 3, quoted at length in _John Bull_, May 4, 1823), implies that the author (i.e. Leigh Hunt) would be better qualified to "catch the manners" of Lisson Grove than of May Fair. It is possible that this was the "last straw," and that the reception of _The Blues_ hastened Byron's determination to part company with the profitless and ill-omened _Liberal_.

THE BLUES:[609]

A LITERARY ECLOGUE.

ECLOGUE THE FIRST.

_London.--Before the Door of a Lecture Room_.

_Enter_ TRACY, _meeting_ INKEL.

_Ink_. You're too late.

_Tra_. Is it over?

_Ink_. Nor will be this hour.
But the benches are crammed, like a garden in flower.
With the pride of our belles, who have made it the fashion;
So, instead of "beaux arts," we may say "la _belle_ passion"
For learning, which lately has taken the lead in
The world, and set all the fine gentlemen reading.

_Tra_. I know it too well, and have worn out my patience
With studying to study your new publications.
There's Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and Wordswords and Co.[610]
With their damnable----

_Ink_. Hold, my good friend, do you know 10
Whom you speak to?

_Tra_. Right well, boy, and so does "the Row:"[611]
You're an author--a poet--

_Ink_. And think you that I
Can stand tamely in silence, to hear you decry
The Muses?

_Tra_. Excuse me: I meant no offence
To the Nine; though the number who make some pretence
To their favours is such----but the subject to drop,
I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop,
(Next door to the pastry-cook's; so that when I
Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy
On the bibliopole's shelves, it is only two paces, 20
As one finds every author in one of those places:)
Where I just had been skimming a charming critique,
So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with Greek!
Where your friend--you know who--has just got such a threshing,
That it is, as the phrase goes, extremely "_refreshing._"[612]
What a beautiful word!

_Ink_. Very true; 'tis so soft
And so cooling--they use it a little too oft;
And the papers have got it at last--but no matter.
So they've cut up our friend then?

_Tra_. Not left him a tatter--
Not a rag of his present or past reputation, 30
Which they call a disgrace to the age, and the nation.

_Ink_. I'm sorry to hear this! for friendship, you know--
Our poor friend!--but I thought it would terminate so.
Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock it.
You don't happen to have the Review in your pocket?

_Tra_. No; I left a round dozen of authors and others
(Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brother's)
All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps,
And on fire with impatience to get the next glimpse.

_Ink_. Let us join them.

_Tra_. What, won't you return to the lecture? 40

_Ink_. Why the place is so crammed, there's not room for a spectre.
Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd--[613]

_Tra_. How can you know that till you hear him?

_Ink_. I heard
Quite enough; and, to tell you the truth, my retreat
Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat.

_Tra_. I have had no great loss then?

_Ink_. Loss!--such a palaver!
I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver
Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours
To the torrent of trash which around him he pours,
Pumped up with such effort, disgorged with such labour, 50
That----come--do not make me speak ill of one's neighbour.

_Tra_. _I_ make you!

_Ink_. Yes, you! I said nothing until
You compelled me, by speaking the truth----

_Tra_. _To speak ill?_
Is that your deduction?

_Ink_. When speaking of Scamp ill,
I certainly _follow, not set_ an example.
The fellow's a fool, an impostor, a zany.

_Tra_. And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool makes many.
But we two will be wise.

_Ink_. Pray, then, let us retire.

_Tra_. I would, but----

_Ink_. There must be attraction much higher
Than Scamp, or the Jew's harp he nicknames his lyre, 60
To call you to this hotbed.

_Tra_. I own it--'tis true--
A fair lady----

_Ink_. A spinster?

_Tra_. Miss Lilac.

_Ink_. The Blue!

_Tra_. The heiress! The angel!

_Ink_. The devil! why, man,
Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can.
_You_ wed with Miss Lilac! 'twould be your perdition:
She's a poet, a chymist, a mathematician.[614]

_Tra_. I say she's an angel.

_Ink_. Say rather an angle.
If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle.
I say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether.

_Tra_. And is that any cause for not coming together? 70

_Ink_. Humph! I can't say I know any happy alliance
Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science.
She's so learnéd in all things, and fond of concerning
Herself in all matters connected with learning,
That----

_Tra_. What?

_Ink_. I perhaps may as well hold my tongue;
But there's five hundred people can tell you you're
wrong.

_Tra_. You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew.

_Ink_. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue?

_Tra_. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you--something of both.
The girl's a fine girl.

_Ink_. And you feel nothing loth 80
To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet
Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.

_Tra_. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I demand
Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand.

_Ink_. Why, that heart's in the inkstand--that hand on the pen.

_Tra_. A propos--Will you write me a song now and then?

_Ink_. To what purpose?

_Tra_. You know, my dear friend, that in prose
My talent is decent, as far as it goes;
But in rhyme----

_Ink_. You're a terrible stick, to be sure.

_Tra_. I own it; and yet, in these times, there's no lure 90
For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two;
And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few?

_Ink_. In your name?

_Tra_. In my name. I will copy them out,
To slip into her hand at the very next rout.

_Ink_. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this?

_Tra_. Why,
Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye,
So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme
What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sublime?

_Ink_. _As sublime!_ If i be so, no need of my Muse.

_Tra_. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the "Blues."100

_Ink_. As sublime!--Mr. Tracy--I've nothing to say.
Stick to prose--As sublime!!--but I wish you good day.

_Tra_. Nay, stay, my dear fellow--consider--I'm wrong;
I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song.

_Ink_. _As_ sublime!!

_Tra_. I but used the expression in haste.

_Ink_. That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damned bad taste.

_Tra_. I own it, I know it, acknowledge it--what
Can I say to you more?

_Ink_. I see what you'd be at:
You disparage my parts with insidious abuse,
Till you think you can turn them best to your own use. 110

_Tra_. And is that not a sign I respect them?

_Ink_. Why that
To be sure makes a difference.

_Tra_. I know what is what:
And you, who're a man of the gay world, no less
Than a poet of t'other, may easily guess
That I never could mean, by a word, to offend
A genius like you, and, moreover, my friend.

_Ink_. No doubt; you by this time should know what is due
To a man of----but come--let us shake hands.

_Tra_. You knew,
And you _know_, my dear fellow, how heartily I,
Whatever you publish, am ready to buy. 120

_Ink_. That's my bookseller's business; I care not for sale;
Indeed the best poems at first rather fail.
There were Renegade's epics, and Botherby's plays,[615]
And my own grand romance--

_Tra_. Had its full share of praise.
I myself saw it puffed in the "Old Girl's Review."[616]

_Ink_. What Review?

_Tra_. Tis the English "Journal de Trevoux;"[617]
A clerical work of our Jesuits at home.
Have you never yet seen it?

_Ink_. That pleasure's to come.

_Tra_. Make haste then.

_Ink_. Why so?

_Tra_. I have heard people say
That it threatened to give up the _ghost_ t'other day.[618] 130

_Ink_. Well, that is a sign of some _spirit_.

_Tra_. No doubt.
Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout?

_Ink_. I've a card, and shall go: but at present, as soon
As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from the moon,
(Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits),
And an interval grants from his lecturing fits,
I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation,
To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation:
'Tis a sort of reunion for Scamp, on the days
Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise. 140
And I own, for my own part, that 'tis not unpleasant.
Will you go? There's Miss Lilac will also be present.

_Tra_. That "metal's attractive."

_Ink_. No doubt--to the pocket.

_Tra_. You should rather encourage my passion than shock it.
But let us proceed; for I think by the hum----

_Ink_. Very true; let us go, then, before they can come,
Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levee,
On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy.
Hark! Zounds, they'll be on us; I know by the drone
Of old Botherby's spouting ex-cathedrâ tone.[619] 150
Aye! there he is at it. Poor Scamp! better join
Your friends, or he'll pay you back in your own coin.

_Tra_. All fair; 'tis but lecture for lecture.

_Ink_. That's clear.
But for God's sake let's go, or the Bore will be here.
Come, come: nay, I'm off.
[_Exit_ INKEL.

_Tra_. You are right, and I'll follow;
'Tis high time for a "_Sic me servavit Apollo_."[620]
And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes,[621]
Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand scribes,
All flocking to moisten their exquisite throttles
With a glass of Madeira[622] at Lady Bluebottle's. 160
[_Exit_ TRACY.

ECLOGUE THE SECOND.

_An Apartment in the House of_ LADY BLUEBOTTLE.--_A Table prepared._

SIR RICHARD BLUEBOTTLE _solus_.

Was there ever a man who was married so sorry?
Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry.
My life is reversed, and my quiet destroyed;
My days, which once passed in so gentle a void,
Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employed;
The twelve, do I say?--of the whole twenty-four,
Is there one which I dare call my own any more?
What with driving and visiting, dancing and dining,
What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling, and shining,
In science and art, I'll be cursed if I know 10
Myself from my wife; for although we are two,
Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be done
In a style which proclaims us eternally one.
But the thing of all things which distresses me more
Than the bills of the week (though they trouble me sore)
Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew
Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue,
Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my cost--
For the bill here, it seems, is defrayed by the host--
No pleasure! no leisure! no thought for my pains, 20
But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains;
A smatter and chatter, gleaned out of reviews,
By the rag, tag, and bobtail, of those they call "Blues;"
A rabble who know not----But soft, here they come!
Would to God I were deaf! as I'm not, I'll be dumb.

_Enter_ LADY BLUEBOTTLE, MISS LILAC, LADY BLUEMOUNT, MR. BOTHERBY,
INKEL, TRACY, MISS MAZARINE, _and others, with_ SCAMP _the Lecturer,
etc., etc._

_Lady Blueb_.
Ah! Sir Richard, good morning: I've brought you some friends.

_Sir Rich_. (_bows, and afterwards aside_).
If friends, they're the first.

_Lady Blueb_. But the luncheon attends.
I pray ye be seated, "_sans cérémonie_."
Mr. Scamp, you're fatigued; take your chair there, next me.
[_They all sit._

_Sir Rich_. (_aside_). If he does, his fatigue is to come.

_Lady Blueb_. Mr. Tracy--
Lady Bluemount--Miss Lilac--be pleased, pray, to place ye; 31
And you, Mr. Botherby--

_Both_. Oh, my dear Lady,
I obey.

_Lady Blueb_. Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye:
You were not at the lecture.

_Ink_. Excuse me, I was;
But the heat forced me out in the best part--alas!
And when--

_Lady Blueb_. To be sure it was broiling; but then
You have lost such a lecture!

_Both_. The best of the ten.

_Tra_. How can you know that? there are two more.

_Both_. Because
I defy him to beat this day's wondrous applause.
The very walls shook.

_Ink_. Oh, if that be the test, 40
I allow our friend Scamp has this day done his best.
Miss Lilac, permit me to help you;--a wing?

_Miss Lil_. No more, sir, I thank you. Who lectures next spring?

_Both_. Dick Dunder.

_Ink_. That is, if he lives.

_Miss Lil_. And why not?

_Ink_. No reason whatever, save that he's a sot.
Lady Bluemount! a glass of Madeira?

_Lady Bluem_. With pleasure.

_Ink_. How does your friend Wordswords, that Windermere treasure?
Does he stick to his lakes, like the leeches he sings,[623]
And their gatherers, as Homer sung warriors and kings?

_Lady Bluem_. He has just got a place.[624]

_Ink_. As a footman?

_Lady Bluem_. For shame!
Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name. 51

_Ink_. Nay, I meant him no evil, but pitied his master;
For the poet of pedlers 'twere, sure, no disaster
To wear a new livery; the more, as 'tis not
The first time he has turned both his creed and his coat.

_Lady Bluem_. For shame! I repeat. If Sir George could but hear--

_Lady Blueb_. Never mind our friend Inkel; we all know, my dear,
'Tis his way.

_Sir Rich_. But this place--

_Ink_. Is perhaps like friend Scamp's,
A lecturer's.

_Lady Bluem_. Excuse me--'tis one in the "Stamps:"
He is made a collector.

_Tra_. Collector!

_Sir Rich_. How?

_Miss Lil_. What? 60

_Ink_. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat:
There his works will appear--

_Lady Bluem_. Sir, they reach to the Ganges.

_Ink_. I sha'n't go so far--I can have them at Grange's.[625]

_Lady Bluem_. Oh fie!

_Miss Lil_. And for shame!

_Lady Bluem_. You're too bad.

_Both_. Very good!

_Lady Bluem_. How good?

_Lady Blueb_. He means nought--'tis his phrase.

_Lady Bluem_. He grows rude.

_Lady Blueb_. He means nothing; nay, ask him.

_Lady Bluem_. Pray, Sir! did you mean
What you say?

_Ink_. Never mind if he did; 'twill be seen
That whatever he means won't alloy what he says.

_Both_. Sir!

_Ink_. Pray be content with your portion of praise;
'Twas in your defence.

_Both_. If you please, with submission 70
I can make out my own.

_Ink_. It would be your perdition.
While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend
Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend.
Apropos--Is your play then accepted at last?

_Both_. At last?

_Ink_. Why I thought--that's to say--there had passed
A few green-room whispers, which hinted,--you know
That the taste of the actors at best is so so.[626]

_Both_. Sir, the green-room's in rapture, and so's the Committee.

_Ink_. Aye--yours are the plays for exciting our "pity
And fear," as the Greek says: for "purging the mind,"80
I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind.

_Both_. I have written the prologue, and meant to have prayed
For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid.

_Ink_. Well, time enough yet, when the play's to be played.
Is it cast yet?

_Both_. The actors are fighting for parts,
As is usual in that most litigious of arts.

_Lady Blueb_. We'll all make a party, and go the _first_ night.

_Tra_. And you promised the epilogue, Inkel.

_Ink_. Not quite.
However, to save my friend Botherby trouble,
I'll do what I can, though my pains must be double. 90

_Tra_. Why so?

_Ink_. To do justice to what goes before.

_Both_. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on that score.
Your parts, Mr. Inkel, are----

_Ink_. Never mind _mine_;
Stick to those of your play, which is quite your own line.

_Lady Bluem_. You're a fugitive writer, I think, sir, of rhymes?[627]

_Ink_. Yes, ma'am; and a fugitive reader sometimes.
On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight,
Or on Mouthey, his friend, without taking to flight.

_Lady Bluem_. Sir, your taste is too common; but time and posterity
Will right these great men, and this age's severity 100
Become its reproach.

_Ink_. I've no sort of objection,
So I'm not of the party to take the infection.

_Lady Blueb_. Perhaps you have doubts that they ever will _take_?

_Ink_. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake
Have taken already, and still will continue
To take--what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
Of pension or place;--but the subject's a bore.

_Lady Bluem_. Well, sir, the time's coming.

_Ink_. Scamp! don't you feel sore?
What say you to this?

_Scamp_. They have merit, I own;
Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown, 110

_Ink_. Then why not unearth it in one of your lectures?

_Scamp_. It is only time past which comes under my strictures.

_Lady Blueb_. Come, a truce with all tartness;--the joy of my heart
Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art.
Wild Nature!--Grand Shakespeare!

_Both_. And down Aristotle!

_Lady Bluem_. Sir George[628] thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle:
And my Lord Seventy-four,[629] who protects our dear Bard,
And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard
For the poet, who, singing of pedlers and asses,
Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus. 120

_Tra_. And you, Scamp!--

_Scamp_. I needs must confess I'm embarrassed.

_Ink_. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already so harassed
With old _schools_, and new _schools_,
and no _schools_, and all _schools_[630].

_Tra_. Well, one thing is certain, that _some_ must be fools.
I should like to know who.

_Ink_. And I should not be sorry
To know who are _not_:--it would save us some worry.

_Lady Blueb_. A truce with remark, and let nothing control
This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul."
Oh! my dear Mr. Botherby! sympathise!--I
Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly, 130
I feel so elastic--"_so buoyant--so buoyant!_"[631]

_Ink_. Tracy! open the window.

_Tra_. I wish her much joy on't.

_Both_. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check not
This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot
Upon earth. Give it way: 'tis an impulse which lifts
Our spirits from earth--the sublimest of gifts;
For which poor Prometheus was chained to his mountain:
'Tis the source of all sentiment--feeling's true fountain;
'Tis the Vision of Heaven upon Earth: 'tis the gas
Of the soul: 'tis the seizing of shades as they pass, 140
And making them substance: 'tis something divine:--

_Ink_. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine?

_Both_. I thank you: not any more, sir, till I dine.[632]

_Ink_. Apropos--Do you dine with Sir Humphry to day?

_Tra_. I should think with _Duke_ Humphry[633] was more in your way.

_Ink_. It might be of yore; but we authors now look
To the Knight, as a landlord, much more than the Duke.
The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is,
And (except with his publisher) dines where he pleases.
But 'tis now nearly five, and I must to the Park. 150

_Tra_. And I'll take a turn with you there till 'tis dark.
And you, Scamp--

_Scamp_. Excuse me! I must to my notes,
For my lecture next week.

_Ink_. He must mind whom he quotes
Out of "Elegant Extracts."

_Lady Blueb_. Well, now we break up;
But remember Miss Diddle[634] invites us to sup.

_Ink_. Then at two hours past midnight we all meet again,
For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champagne!

_Tra_. And the sweet lobster salad![635]

_Both_. I honour that meal;
For 'tis then that our feelings most genuinely--feel.

_Ink_. True; feeling is truest _then_, far beyond question:
I wish to the gods 'twas the same with digestion! 161

_Lady Blueb_. Pshaw!--never mind that; for one moment of feeling
Is worth--God knows what.

_Ink_. 'Tis at least worth concealing
For itself, or what follows--But here comes your carriage.

_Sir Rich_. (_aside_).
I wish all these people were d----d with _my_ marriage!
[_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[609] {573}[Benjamin Stillingfleet is said to have attended evening parties at Mrs. Montague's in grey or blue worsted stockings, in lieu of full dress. The ladies who excused and tolerated this defiance of the conventions were nicknamed "blues," or "blue-stockings." Hannah More describes such a club or coterie in her _Bas Bleu_, which was circulated in MS. in 1784 (Boswell's _Life of Johnson_, 1848, p. 689). A farce by Moore, entitled _The M. P., or The Blue-Stocking_, was played for the first time at the Lyceum, September 30, 1811. The heroine, "Lady Bab Blue, is a pretender to poetry, chemistry, etc."--Genest's _Hist. of the Stage_, 1832, viii. 270.]

[610] {574}[Compare the dialogue between Mr. Paperstamp, Mr. Feathernest, Mr. Vamp, etc., in Peacock's _Melincourt_, cap. xxxii., _Works_, 1875, i. 272.]

[611] [Compare--

"The last edition see by Long. and Co.,
Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers of the Row."

_The Search after Happiness_, by Sir Walter Scott.]

[612] [This phrase is said to have been first used in the _Edinburgh Review_--probably by Jeffrey. (See review of _Rogers's Human Life_, 1818, _Edin. Rev._, vol. 31, p. 325.)]

[613] {575}[It is possible that the description of Hazlitt's Lectures of 1818 is coloured by recollections of Coleridge's Lectures of 1811-1812, which Byron attended (see letter to Harness, December 6, 1811, _Letters_, 1898, ii. 76, note 1); but the substance of the attack is probably derived from Gifford's review of _Lectures on the English Poets, delivered at the Surrey Institution_ (_Quarterly Review_, December, 1818, vol. xix. pp. 424-434.)]

[614] {576}["Yesterday, a very pretty letter from Annabella.... She is ... very little spoiled, which is strange in an heiress.... She is a poetess--a mathematician--a metaphysician."--_Journal_, November 30, 1813, _Letters_, 1898, ii. 357]

[615] {578}[The term "renegade" was applied to Southey by William Smith, M.P., in the House of Commons, March 14, 1817 (_vide ante_, p. 482). Sotheby's plays, _Ivan_, _The Death of Darnley_, _Zamorin and Zama_, were published under the title of _Five Tragedies_, in 1814.]

[616] [Compare--

"I've bribed my Grandmother's Review the British."

_Don Juan_, Canto I. stanza ccix. line 9.

And see "Letter to the Editor of 'My Grandmother's Review,'" _Letters_, 1900, iv. Appendix VII. pp. 465-470. The reference may be to a review of the Fourth Canto of _Childe Harold_, which appeared in the _British Review_, January, 1818, or to a more recent and, naturally, most hostile notice of _Don Juan_ (No. xviii. 1819).]

[617] [_The Journal de Trévoux_, published under the title of _Mémoires de Trévoux_ (1701-1775, 265 vols. 12º), edited by members of the Society of Jesus, was an imitation of the _Journal des Savants_. The original matter, the Mémoires, contain a mine of information for the student of the history of French Literature; but the reviews, critical notices, etc., to which Byron refers, were of a highly polemical and partisan character, and were the subject of attack on the part of Protestant and free-thinking antagonists. In a letter to Moore, dated Ravenna, June 22, 1821, Byron says, "Now, if we were but together a little to combine our _Journal of Trevoux_!" (_Letters_, 1901, v. 309). The use of the same illustration in letter and poem is curious and noteworthy.]

[618] {579}[The publication of the _British Review_ was discontinued in 1825.]

[619] [For "Botherby," _vide ante_, _Beppo_, stanza lxxii. line 7, p. 182, note 1; and with the "ex-cathedrâ tone" compare "that awful note of woe," _Vision of Judgment_, stanza xc. line 4, _ante_, p. 518.]

[620] {580}["Sotheby is a good man, rhymes well (if not wisely), but is a bore. He seizes you by the button. One night of a rout at Mrs. Hope's, he had fastened upon me (something about Agamemnon, or Orestes, or some of his plays), notwithstanding my symptoms of manifest distress (for I was in love, and just nicked a minute, when neither mothers, nor husbands, nor rivals, nor gossips, were near my then idol, who was beautiful as the Statues of the Gallery where we stood at the time)--Sotheby I say had seized upon me by the button and the heart-strings, and spared neither. William Spencer, who likes fun, and don't dislike mischief, saw my case, and coming up to us both, took me by the hand, and pathetically bade me farewell; 'for,' said he, 'I see it is all over with you.' Sotheby then went way. '_Sic me servavit Apollo_.'"--_Detached Thoughts_, 1821, _Letters_, 1901, v. 433.]

[621] [For Byron's misapprehension concerning "kibes," see _Childe Harold_, Canto I. stanza lxvii. line 5, _Poetical Works_, 1899, ii. 64, note 3.]

[622] ["Where can the animals who write this trash have been bred, to fancy that ladies drink bumpers of Madeira at luncheon?"--_Literary Register_, May 3, 1823.]

[623] {582}[Wordsworth's _Resolution and Independence_, originally entitled _The Leech-gatherer_, was written in 1802, and published in 1807.]

[624] [Wordsworth was appointed Distributor of Stamps for the County of Westmoreland, in March, 1813. Lord Lonsdale and Sir George Beaumont were "suretys for the due execution of the trust."--_Life of William Wordsworth_, by William Knight, 1889, ii. 210.]

[625] Grange is or was a famous pastry-cook and fruiterer in Piccadilly. ["Grange's" (James Grange, confectioner, No. 178, Piccadilly, see Kent's London Directory of 1820), moved farther west some fifteen years ago.]

[626] {584}["When I belonged to the Drury Lane Committee ... the number of plays upon the shelves were about _five_ hundred.... Mr. Sotheby obligingly offered us all his tragedies, and I pledged myself; and, notwithstanding many squabbles with my Committe[e]d Brethren, did get 'Ivan' accepted, read, and the parts distributed. But lo! in the very heart of the matter, upon some _tepid_-ness on the part of Kean, or warmth on that of the author, Sotheby withdrew his play."--_Detached Thoughts_, 1821, _Letters_, 1901, v. 442.]

[627] [_Fugitive Pieces_ is the title of the suppressed quarto edition of Byron's juvenile poems.]

[628] {585}[Sir George Beaumont, Bart., of Coleorton, Leicestershire (1753-1827), landscape-painter, art critic, and picture-collector, one of the founders of the National Gallery, married, in 1778, Margaret Willis, granddaughter of Chief Justice Willis. She corresponded with Wordsworth and his sister Dorothy, and with Coleridge (see _Memorials of Coleorton_, 1888). Coleridge visited the Beaumonts for the first time at Dunmore, in 1804. "I was not received here," he tells Wordsworth, "with mere kindness; I was welcomed _almost_ as you welcomed me when first I visited you at Racedown" (_Letters of S. T. Coleridge_, 1895, ii. 459). Scott (_Memoirs of the life, etc._, 1838, ii, II) describes Sir George Beaumont as "by far the most sensible and pleasing man I ever knew, kind, too, in his nature, and generous and gentle in society.... He was the great friend of Wordsworth, and understood his poetry."]

[629] [It was not Wordsworth's patron, William Lord Lonsdale, but his kinsman James, the first earl, who, towards the close of the American war, offered to build and man a ship of seventy-four guns.]

[630] {586}[For this harping on "schools" of poetry, see Hazlitt's Lectures "On the Living Poets" _Lectures on the English Poets_ (No. viii.), 1818, p. 318.]

[631] Fact from life, with the _words_.

[632] [Sir Humphry Davy (1778-1829), President of the Royal Society, received the honour of knighthood April 8, 1812. He was created a baronet January 18, 1819.]

[633] {587}[Compare "We have been for many years at a great distance from each other; we are now separated. You have combined arsenic with your gold, Sir Humphry! You are brittle, and I will rather dine with Duke Humphry than with you."--_Anima Poetæ_, by S. T. Coleridge, 1895, p. 218.]

[634] ["Lydia White," writes Lady Morgan (_Memoirs_, 1862, ii. 236), "was a personage of much social celebrity in her day. She was an Irish lady of large fortune and considerable talent, noted for her hospitality and dinners in all the capitals of Europe." She is mentioned by Moore (_Memoirs_, 1853, in. 21), Miss Berry (_Journal_, 1866, ii. 484), Ticknor (_Life, Letters, and Journal_, 1876, i. 176), etc., etc.

Byron saw her for the last time in Venice, when she borrowed a copy of _Lalla Rookh_ (Letter to Moore, June 1, 1818, _Letters_, 1900, iv. 237). Sir Walter Scott, who knew her well, records her death: "January 28, [1827]. Heard of Miss White's death--she _was_ a woman of wit, and had a feeling and kind heart. Poor Lydia! I saw the Duke of York and her in London, when Death, it seems, was brandishing his dart over them.

'The view o't gave them little fright.'"

(_Memoirs of the Life, etc._, 1838, iv. 110.)]

[635] [Moore, following the example of Pope, who thought his "delicious lobster-nights" worth commemorating, gives details of a supper at Watier's, May 19, 1814, at which Kean was present, when Byron "confined himself to lobsters, and of these finished two or three, to his own share," etc.--an Ambrosian night, indeed!--_Life_, p. 254.]

END OF VOL. IV.