LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
Documents Biography Criticism

The Autobiography of William Jerdan
George Croly to William Jerdan, [February 1817?]

Vol. I. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Introductory
Ch. 2: Childhood
Ch. 3: Boyhood
Ch. 4: London
Ch. 5: Companions
Ch. 6: The Cypher
Ch. 7: Edinburgh
Ch. 8: Edinburgh
Ch. 9: Excursion
Ch. 10: Naval Services
Ch. 11: Periodical Press
Ch. 12: Periodical Press
Ch. 13: Past Times
Ch. 14: Past Times
Ch. 15: Literary
Ch. 16: War & Jubilees
Ch. 17: The Criminal
Ch. 18: Mr. Perceval
Ch. 19: Poets
Ch. 20: The Sun
Ch. 21: Sun Anecdotes
Ch. 22: Paris in 1814
Ch. 23: Paris in 1814
Ch. 24: Byron
Vol. I. Appendices
Scott Anecdote
Burns Anecdote
Life of Thomson
John Stuart Jerdan
Scottish Lawyers
Sleepless Woman
Canning Anecdote
Southey in The Sun
Hood’s Lamia
Murder of Perceval
Vol. II. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Literary
Ch. 2: Mr. Canning
Ch. 3: The Sun
Ch. 4: Amusements
Ch. 5: Misfortune
Ch. 6: Shreds & Patches
Ch. 7: A Character
Ch. 8: Varieties
Ch. 9: Ingratitude
Ch. 10: Robert Burns
Ch. 11: Canning
Ch. 12: Litigation
Ch. 13: The Sun
Ch. 14: Literary Gazette
Ch. 15: Literary Gazette
Ch. 16: John Trotter
Ch. 17: Contributors
Ch. 18: Poets
Ch 19: Peter Pindar
Ch 20: Lord Munster
Ch 21: My Writings
Vol. II. Appendices
The Satirist.
Authors and Artists.
The Treasury
Morning Chronicle
Chevalier Taylor
Foreign Journals
Vol. III. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Literary Pursuits
Ch. 2: Literary Labour
Ch. 3: Poetry
Ch. 4: Coleridge
Ch 5: Criticisms
Ch. 6: Wm Gifford
Ch. 7: W. H. Pyne
Ch. 8: Bernard Barton
Ch. 9: Insanity
Ch. 10: The R.S.L.
Ch. 11: The R.S.L.
Ch. 12: L.E.L.
Ch. 13: L.E.L.
Ch. 14: The Past
Ch. 15: Literati
Ch. 16: A. Conway
Ch. 17: Wellesleys
Ch. 18: Literary Gazette
Ch. 19: James Perry
Ch. 20: Personal Affairs
Vol. III. Appendices
Literary Poverty
Ismael Fitzadam
Mr. Tompkisson
Mrs. Hemans
A New Review
Debrett’s Peerage
Procter’s Poems
Poems by Others
Poems by Jerdan
Vol. IV. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Critical Glances
Ch. 2: Personal Notes
Ch. 3: Fresh Start
Ch. 4: Thomas Hunt
Ch. 5: On Life
Ch. 6: Periodical Press
Ch. 7: Quarterly Review
Ch. 8: My Own Life
Ch. 9: Mr. Canning
Ch. 10: Anecdotes
Ch. 11: Bulwer-Lytton
Ch. 12: G. P. R. James
Ch. 13: Finance
Ch. 14: Private Life
Ch. 15: Learned Societies
Ch. 16: British Association
Ch. 17: Literary Characters
Ch. 18: Literary List
Ch. 19: Club Law
Ch. 20: Conclusion
Vol. IV. Appendix
Gerald Griffin
W. H. Ainsworth
James Weddell
The Last Bottle
N. T. Carrington
The Literary Fund
Letter from L.E.L.
Geographical Society
Baby, a Memoir
Creative Commons License

Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.
Produced by CATH
“Hague, Holland, 154, Noorde Ende.”
Dear Jerdan,

“I suspect you of Jesuitism, enough to forge at least a date; and that, like Bonaparte and his decrees, you manufactured a 7th of January to suit your own purposes. Take this upon your own conscience; but upon mine, the gentlest oath that can be sworn in a cold climate, I believe you to be among the worst depositaries of correspondence to be found anywhere, from this to Berwick, or forward and upward to Inverness. You absolutely kept some of my epistles—that is, epistles to me—a month, and have afflicted some of my she-friends with all the horrors of being forgotten by me. May I trust you again? I was actually beginning to have my fears for yourself; and as a typhus fever, or a St. Vitus’s dance, might seize upon a man of genius, and six feet altitude, as well as upon the diminutives of this world, I did not know but I might have been called on to write your epitaph. However, let me intreat you to sin no more on this subject, and, in consideration of your reform, I shall trouble you with sundry commissions in future. Thank you for your arrangements with the flageolet-maker—bring it with you; but don’t stir till the wind has been steadily fair for some time. You may come in twelve hours. You may be kicked about, starved
and sickened to within an hour or two of giving up the ghost by setting off, as I did, whether the wind would or not. You traitor!—this I use merely in tenderness—you say nothing about the poem which I must have done, but must see while it is doing in proofs. Holland is now in its glory; it has got new importation of tobacco, and a new fall of snow. They both have the effect of blinding me, and I at this instant write to you almost with one eye relieving the other. But the landscape, with all its flatness, is bright; the sun, to my astonishment and adoration, perpetually brilliant—a grand orb of fire and gold. The frost is severe; but exercise, clear air, and a kind of scorn of the Hollanders, who are all wrapped up to the snouts, like porcupines, in thick furs, make me never care about the cold while I can move. After all, spring is the finest time for movement here, as everywhere else; but spring here is like the people—slow, sulky, and takes a long time to consider about what might be better done at once, and what must be done, in some way or other, at last. And yet to think of having, in such a climate, drawing-rooms built without a chimney! This is my unhappy case at this moment. I am promised a chimney, made on the best authorities, with a grate with bars, and contrivance for letting the blaze be seen; but while the frost lasts, the architect cannot work, and in the meantime I am forced to eat, drink, dress myself—nay, even sleep in my bed-chamber. I am glad of the recruits coming, and request you to give my best respects to the Accouchée, or, as it is phrased in the classical tongue of this country, ‘De Kramm Frow.’ Apropos of Mr. F., let my letters lie open, and let him read them if he can; but I wish his powers were a little more extensive. Your enclosure (i.e., mine) has just cost me six shillings, English.”