January 26th.—I made a very
agreeable sort of
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The proverb—“Poverty comes in at the door, love flies out at the window.”
What shouts of laughter and fun!—our audience—Lord Douro, Lord Headford, Sir Guy and Lady Campbell, Sir E. and Lady Blakeney, Augustus Liddle, Colonel Bowater, Lord F. Paulet, Mrs. Caulfield, Miss Armitt, and Miss Crampton.
Had a letter to-day from David, the sculptor, sending me my own bust in marble, and that of Lafayette!
February 15th.—Sitting all alone to-day; just before dinner enter T. Moore! pardi! I could not believe my eyes. “Why, what on earth brings you here? is it to dine with me to-day?” “No, I’ll dine with you to-morrow.” “My mother was dying, I was sent for, she has seen me, and has revived.” Morgan came in. Moore sat all the time; I never before saw him sit for ten minutes together; he was cordial, and pleasant, and confidential. He told us many strange things. Poor fellow, he has never been able to get out of debt. He told us Rogers had expended three thousand pounds on the publication of his dandy book. Oh, these amateur authors who write for fashion, while we write for fame or famine! Moore says he thinks Murray would like to publish for me.
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February 17th.—I had a little dinner got up in a hurry for Moore, yesterday; it was got up thus. I threw up my windows, and asked the inmates of the cabs and carriages of my friends as they passed the windows, and sent out some penny porters, and lighted up my rooms. Moore was absolutely astounded when he saw my party! He sang some of his most beautiful songs in his most delightful manner, without stopping; some of them twice over, and all of them as if every word was applicable to the people around him. Many of his old friends were around him; I said, “if you stay a day or two longer, I’ll do better than this.” “No, no,” he said, “never again can such a thing be done. This is one of the few happy accidents which occur rarely; besides, I don’t want to efface the impression even by something better.’
I never saw him more natural or agreeable. He praised Murray to the skies, and said he was princely in his conduct to authors. Moore disliked me in my youth; he told me at Florence that he thought Byron did not wish to know me, and did wish to know Morgan.
April 1st.—Poor Molly! I went to see her, and the whole was too
much for me—my dear Morgan just
returned from her—we are with her every day! What a scene! her whole
anxiety is about her funeral, her coffin, &c. I have promised her to do
all, and now she is at peace, although her drunken sister (who is looking
forward to a glorious wake) has brought her priest, who told her she could not
be saved. My
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Morgan and I have just had a battle royal! The subject was, as usual, one of my improvements in the house. All, however, of my improvements have been made at long intervals; the last I was five years working at. The present point at issue is, I want a little greenhouse to put my plants in on the open space at the back of the stairs; I want this done, and have offered to pay for it. Morgan vows I never shall have it, and is gone out in a passion; but I don’t despair. Upon this occasion I am a bore, and he is—a bear.
