Footprints of Famous Men: Designed as Incitements to Intellectual Industry

by John G. Edgar

while, in social points of view, few men, similarly situated, were more courted by persons of rank and distinction. He had made comparatively few enemies, for his satirical shafts, sparkling with wit, were discharged with so much sportiveness, that they rarely created much venomous feeling. The kindness of the heart from which they emanated was naturally too great to admit of that being very frequently the case. He continued, though tried by vicissitudes of fortune, to retain all his amiable and domestic feelings in full vigor; his rural dwelling seems to have had greater attraction than the gay and glittering drawing-rooms, which he still now and then enlivened with the flashes of his graceful wit and refined genius. He was a man of the world as well as a poet and scholar, and he relished the taste of sparkling glasses of “liquid ruby,” as well as the sight of bright eyes and brilliant glances. He seems to have generally enjoyed himself with little restraint; and ministered to the amusement of others without compromising his personal dignity, or in any degree violating the independence of his spirit. His wit and cheerfulness, when exerted, were fascinating in the extreme, and he could at pleasure “set the table in a roar.” One day, at a dinner-party where he was, the absence of game having been lamented, one of the guests, struck with his fine display, remarked—

“Why, gentlemen, what better game could you wish than ‘Moore game?’ Surely you have that in abundance.”

In the circles he frequented it was his lot to become intimate with Lord Byron, to whom he had introduced himself by something resembling a challenge; and when, in 1819, he made that journey to the Continent which furnished him with matter for his “Rhymes on the Road,” Moore visited the great, but erring and unhappy, author of “Childe Harold,” then residing near Venice. It was then that the noble and long-descended bard confided to his charge the autobiography, which was ultimately consigned to the flames, after it had entailed on the Irish melodist infinite trouble, anxiety, and annoyance, and that shortly after the time when the conduct of the individual who acted as his deputy at Bermuda had driven him from England, and involved him in serious pecuniary difficulties and embarrassments. On leaving Italy, Moore betook himself to Paris, where he was treated with high honor and distinguished by a public dinner, which, as a mark of esteem and admiration, was particularly grateful to the heart and feelings of the accomplished exile. While there, he wrote the “Loves of the Angels,” containing passages of great beauty, passion, and tenderness, but considered inferior to the former effusions of his versatile muse. This may be accounted for by its publication having been hastened by the announcement of Lord Byron’s “Heaven and Earth,” understood to be founded on the same passage of Scripture—a very sufficient explanation of its holding a secondary place among its author’s productions. His latest work of imagination was the “Epicurean,” an Eastern tale in prose, and in a spirit of pure romance.

In 1825, Moore visited Sir Walter Scott at Abbotsford, and was entertained with wonted hospitality by the mighty novelist, who did not fail to conduct his charming and interesting visitor to the [Rhymer’s Glen], and all the spots renowned in Border history and tradition, which he was accustomed daily to haunt and draw inspiration from. Yet it may fairly be questioned whether the sunny heart and voluptuous imagination of the sentimental love-singer, which had luxuriated in all the gorgeousness of Oriental scenery, and in the meeting of “bright waters” in sweet and happy valleys, would be very deeply impressed while viewing the purple peaks of Eildon, or crossing the “Leader’s silver tide,” which were the pride and consolation of the “last minstrel’s” checkered existence.

In 1825, Moore appeared before the public in the character of a biographer, with the “Life of Sheridan,” which, though valuable and amusing, was not considered fully to establish his reputation in his new literary field. Indeed, it was the fashion of the day to say that Moore had murdered the marvelous and witty orator, whose skillfully-prepared and dexterously-delivered jokes had so often made the walls of St. Stephen shake and resound with laughter and merriment. “No!” exclaimed George IV., on hearing this grave charge; “but he has certainly attempted his life.” Lord Brougham says, that the frankness with which Moore gave the secret note-books of the famous wit to the world, must almost have made their author shake in his grave.

Four years later, Moore was again an aspirant to public favor, with “Notices of the Life of Lord Byron.” From the large space which the poetic peer had during life filled in the eye of the world, and the extraordinary reputation he had left behind him, this work was, and could hardly fail to be, extremely interesting. Much had been expected, however, on account of the close friendship that had existed, and the frank intercourse that had taken place, between the distinguished writer and the hero whose sayings and doings his pen aspired to immortalize. Moreover, the mystery attached to the autobiography that had been destroyed was not forgotten. The literary enterprise, when executed, was not deemed quite satisfactory; it was encompassed with perplexing and insuperable difficulties, and the book was necessarily the reverse of faultless. In fact, even if he had the inclination, it was almost impossible for him to comment with any degree of freedom or severity on the failings and follies of a man with whom he had been long on terms so intimate; even if the danger and delicacy of the arduous task had not been indefinitely increased by respect and consideration for the feelings of many persons then still living.

The notices of Byron’s life were followed by “Memoirs of Lord Edward Fitzgerald,” whose career had attracted Moore’s ardent and most consecrated sympathies. The life of this ill-fated nobleman was written throughout with heart and feeling; and, perhaps, may be taken as the most favorable specimen of its author’s prose style. Besides, he had shown his prowess in political and religious controversy, in the “Life of Captain Rock,” as also in the “Travels of an Irish Gentleman;” and he contributed a history of Ireland to “Lardner’s Cyclopædia.” These emanations are characterized by much of the beauty of language, liveliness of remark, and tenderness of sentiment, displayed in his metrical writings, but without being received with similar tokens of approbation. The surpassing charms of his happy and exuberant verse, ever displaying a fancy rich, spirited, elegant, and impassioned, though not sublime, or always immortal, have been universally felt and confessed; the enchantment they produced for a time on the public mind and imagination, was beyond all dispute or question: but with his prose works it was widely different. Whatever their intrinsic merits, they have failed to rank in public interest or estimation with his poetic compositions.

Nevertheless, the nature of some of them, the subjects to which they related, and the principles they sought to maintain, support, and vindicate, were such, that the Irish patriots of the period conceived their author fairly entitled to share in the glories they were acquiring, and the laurels they were reaping in the British Parliament. This conclusion being arrived at, Moore was graciously requested to leave his quiet and peaceful abode in Wiltshire, and appear as a candidate for the representation of Limerick, in order that he might “pursue the triumph and partake the gale.” He was not, however, so ambitious of senatorial rank as to accept of an honor, which the peculiar circumstances under which it could have been conferred, and the conditions on which it would have been held, rendered, to say the least, equivocal in character.

Moore, by the favor of his political friends, enjoyed a pension from the crown during the latter years of his life; but they were darkened, and his beaming intellect clouded, by the domestic losses and calamities, which, at this period, he had to endure.