The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals
Chapter 130 : [Footnote 5: Winifred Jenkins is the maid to Miss Tabitha Bramble, who marries Captain

[Footnote 5: Winifred Jenkins is the maid to Miss Tabitha Bramble, who marries Captain Lismahago, in Smollett's 'Humphrey Clinker'.]

[Footnote 6: Lord Foley and Scrope Davies.]

[Footnote 7: G. F. Cooke (1755-1812), from 1794 to 1800 was the hero of the Dublin stage, with the exception of an interval, during which he served in the army. On October 31, 1800, he appeared at Covent Garden as "Richard III.," and afterwards played such parts in tragedy as "Iago"

and "Shylock" with great success. In comedy he was also a favourite, especially as "Kitely" in 'Every Man in his Humour', and "Sir Pertinax MacSycophant" in 'The Man of the World'. His last appearance on the London stage was as "Falstaff," June 5, 1810. In that year he sailed for New York, and, September 26, 1812, died there from his "incorrigible habits of drinking."

Byron uses the word 'scurra', which generally means a "parasite," in its other sense of a "buffoon." 'Memoirs of George Frederic Cooke, late of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden', by W. Dunlap, in 2 vols., was published in 1813]

[Footnote 8: The original edition of 'Drunken Barnaby's Journal', a small square volume, without date, was probably printed about 1650. The author was supposed to be Barnaby Harrington of Queen's College, Oxford.

But Joseph Haslewood, whose edition (1818) is the best, attributed it to Richard Brathwait (circ. 1588-1673). The t.i.tle of the second edition (1716) runs as follows: 'Drunken Barnaby's Four Journeys to the North of England. In Latin and English Verse. Wittily and merrily (tho' near one hundred years ago) composed; found among some old musty books, that had a long time lain by in a corner; and now at last made publick. To which is added, Bessy Bell'.

"Drunken Barnaby" was also the burden of an old ballad quoted by Haslewood:

"Barnaby, Barnaby, thou'st been drinking, I can tell by thy nose, and thy eyes winking; Drunk at Richmond, drunk at Dover, Drunk at Newcastle, drunk all over.

Hey, Barnaby! tak't for a warning, Be no more drunk, nor dry in a morning!"]

[Footnote 9:

"A Persian's Heav'n is easily made-- 'Tis but black eyes and lemonade."]

[Footnote 10: Pope's 'Imitations of Horace', Satire I. line 6.]

[Footnote 11: With Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster.]

[Footnote 12: The review of Madame de Stael's 'Germany' was by Mackintosh.]

323.--To John Murray.

August 26, 1813.

Dear Sir,--I have looked over and corrected one proof, but not so carefully (G.o.d knows if you can read it through, but I can't) as to preclude your eye from discovering some _o_mission of mine or _com_mission of y'e Printer. If you have patience, look it over. Do you know any body who can _stop_--I mean _point_-commas, and so forth? for I am, I hear, a sad hand at your punctuation. I have, but with some difficulty, _not_ added any more to this snake of a poem, which has been lengthening its rattles every month. It is now fearfully long, being more than a canto and a half of _C. H_., which contains but 882 lines per book, with all late additions inclusive.

The last lines Hodgson likes--it is not often he does--and when he don't, he tells me with great energy, and I fret and alter. I have thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel, and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal to say for himself.

Do you think you shall get hold of the _female_ MS. you spoke of to day?

if so, you will let me have a glimpse; but don't tell our _master_ (not W's), or we shall be buffeted.

I was quite sorry to hear you say you stayed in town on my account, and I hope sincerely you did not mean so superfluous a piece of politeness.

Our _six_ critiques!--they would have made half a _Quarterly_ by themselves; but this is the age of criticism.

Ever yours,

B.

324.--To Thomas Moore.

August 28, 1813.

Ay, my dear Moore, "there _was_ a time"--I have heard of your tricks, when "you was campaigning at the King of Bohemy." [1]

I am much mistaken if, some fine London spring, about the year 1815, that time does not come again. After all, we must end in marriage; and I can conceive nothing more delightful than such a state in the country, reading the county newspaper, etc., and kissing one's wife's maid.

Seriously, I would incorporate with any woman of decent demeanour to-morrow--that is, I would a month ago, but, at present,----

Why don't you "parody that Ode?"--Do you think [2] I should be _tetchy?_ or have you done it, and won't tell me?--You are quite right about Giamschid, and I have reduced it to a dissyllable within this half hour [3].

I am glad to hear you talk of Richardson [4], because it tells me what you won't--that you are going to beat Lucien. At least tell me how far you have proceeded. Do you think me less interested about your works, or less sincere than our friend Ruggiero? I am not--and never was. In that thing of mine, the _English Bards_, at the time when I was angry with all the world, I never "disparaged your parts," although I did not know you personally;--and have always regretted that you don't give us an _entire_ work, and not sprinkle yourself in detached pieces--beautiful, I allow, and quite _alone_ in our language, but still giving us a right to expect a _Shah Nameh_ [5] (is that the name?) as well as gazelles.

Stick to the East;--the oracle, Stael, told me it was the only poetical policy. The North, South, and West, have all been exhausted; but from the East, we have nothing but Southey's unsaleables,--and these he has contrived to spoil, by adopting only their most outrageous fictions. His personages don't interest us, and yours will. You will have no compet.i.tor; and, if you had, you ought to be glad of it. The little I have done in that way is merely a "voice in the wilderness" for you; and if it has had any success, that also will prove that the public are orientalising, and pave the path for you.

I have been thinking of a story, grafted on the amours of a Peri and a mortal--something like, only more _philanthropical_ than, Cazotte's _Diable Amoureux_ [6].

It would require a good deal of poesy, and tenderness is not my forte.

For that, and other reasons, I have given up the idea, and merely suggest it to you, because, in intervals of your greater work, I think it a subject you might make much of [7].

If you want any more books, there is "Castellan's _Moeurs des Ottomans_," the best compendium of the kind I ever met with, in six small tomes [8].

I am really taking a liberty by talking in this style to my "elders and my betters;"--pardon it, and don't _Rochefoucault_ [9] my motives.