"September 8. 1813.
"I am sorry to see Tod. again so soon, for fear your scrupulous
conscience should have prevented you from fully availing yourself
of his spoils. By this coach I send you a copy of that awful
pamphlet 'The Giaour,' which has never procured me half so high a
compliment as your modest alarm. You will (if inclined in an
evening) perceive that I have added much in quantity,--a
circumstance which may truly diminish your modesty upon the
subject.
"You stand certainly in great need of a 'lift' with Mackintosh. My
dear Moore, you strangely under-rate yourself. I should conceive it
an affectation in any other; but I think I know you well enough to
believe that you don't know your own value. However, 'tis a fault
that generally mends; and, in your case, it really ought. I have
heard him speak of you as highly as your wife could wish; and
enough to give all your friends the jaundice.
"Yesterday I had a letter from _Ali Pacha!_ brought by Dr. Holland,
who is just returned from Albania. It is in Latin, and begins
'Excellentissime _nec non_ Carissime,' and ends about a gun he
wants made for him;--it is signed 'Ali Vizir.' What do you think he
has been about? H. tells me that, last spring, he took a hostile
town, where, forty-two years ago, his mother and sisters were
treated as Miss Cunigunde was by the Bulgarian cavalry. He takes
the town, selects all the survivors of this exploit--children,
grandchildren, &c. to the tune of six hundred, and has them shot
before his face. Recollect, he spared the rest of the city, and
confined himself to the Tarquin pedigree,--which is more than I
would. So much for 'dearest friend.'"
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