| "My Muse, too, when her wings are dry, |
| No frolic flight will take; |
| But round a bowl she'll dip and fly, |
| Like swallows round a lake. |
| Then, if the nymph will have her share |
| Before she'll bless her swain, |
| Why that I think's a reason fair |
| To fill my glass again." |
Many years since, Captain Morris retired to a villa at Brockham, near the foot of Box Hill, in Surrey. This property, it is said, was presented to him by his old friend, the Duke of Norfolk. Here the Captain "drank the pure pleasures of the rural life" long after many a bright light of his own time had flickered out, and become almost forgotten; even "the sweet, shady side of Pall Mall" had almost disappeared, and with it the princely house whereat he was wont to shine. He died July 11, 1835, in his ninety-third year, of internal inflammation of only four days.
Morris presented a rare combination of mirth and prudence, such as human conduct seldom offers for our imitation. He retained his gaieté de cœur to the last; so that, with equal truth and spirit, he remonstrated:
| "When life charms my heart, must I kindly be told, |
| I'm too gay and too happy for one that's so old." |
Captain Morris left his autobiography to his family; but it has not been published.
LITERARY DINNERS.
Incredible as it may appear, it is sometimes stated very confidently, that English authors and actors who give dinners, are treated with greater indulgence by certain critics than those who do not. But, it has never been said that any critical journal in England, with the slightest pretensions to respectability, was in the habit of levying black mail in this Rob Roy fashion, upon writers or articles of any kind. Yet it is alleged, on high authority, that many of the French critical journals are or were principally supported from such a source. For example, there is a current anecdote to the effect that when the celebrated singer Nourrit died, the editor of one of the musical reviews waited on his successor, Duprez, and, with a profusion of compliments and apologies, intimated to him that Nourrit had invariably allowed 2000 francs a year to the review. Duprez, taken rather aback, expressed his readiness to allow half that sum. "Bien, monsieur," said the editor, with a shrug, "mais, parole d'honneur, j'y perds mille francs."