Lord Ebrington came to see me in town on his return from Italy, and
declared me so delightful that I reminded him of _les beaux vieux temps
passés_. I nevertheless went hack to Paris, without doing anything with
the Duke of Beaufort respecting my annuity.
I cannot help thinking that many persons are governed rather by worldly
than by moral principles, in their determination to praise everybody
they know without rhyme or reason: for I have been acquainted with many,
to whom mild Christian charity was a stranger, who courted popularity
by indiscriminate praise of the good and of the bad. Coldness of heart
renders all this easy and natural.
The good-natured man, says some great writer or other, is generally
without benevolence or any other virtue, than such as indolence and
insensibility confer. Now, the selfsame energy and warmth of heart,
which creates enthusiastic admiration of the virtuous and amiable,
excites the strongest feelings of resentment against those who are
capable of meanness or dishonour.
Few were, I believe, unacquainted with the real character of Beau
Brummell, among those who courted, praised, sought and copied him. The
prudence of such conduct can no more be doubted, in my humble opinion,
than its injustice towards the truly amiable. Although for my part I
never affected friendship for Mr. Brummell, either in his day of triumph
or since his disgrace, yet curiosity induced me to inquire about him as
I passed through Calais.
"_C'était un homme charmant_" his French language-master informed me.
"_Qu'il avait un ton parfait; que c'était aussi étonnant, qu'heureux
qu'il n'eut jamais appris à parler Français, en Angleterre._"
I made the beau a hasty visit, just as the horses were being put to
my carriage. My inquiry, "_Si Monsieur Brummell était visible_?" was
answered by his valet, just such a valet as one would have given the
beau in the acme of his glory, _bien poudré, bien cérémonieu, et bien
mis, que Monsieur fesait sa barbe._
"_Pardon,_" added the valet, seeing me about to leave my card, "_mais
Monsieur reçoit, en faisant la barbe toujours. Monsieur est à sa seconde
toilette, actuellement._
I found the beau _en robe de chambre de Florence,_ and, if one might
judge from his increased embonpoint and freshness, his disgrace had not
seriously affected him. He touched lightly on this subject in the course
of our conversation, _faisant toujours la barbe, avec une grace toute
particulière, et le moindre petit rasoir, que je n'eus jamais vu._
"Play," he said, "had been the ruin of them all."
"Whom do you include in your all?"
He told me there had been a rot in White's club.
"I have heard all about your late tricks in London," said I.
Brummell laughed, and told me that in Calais he sought only French
society; because it was his decided opinion that nothing could be more
ridiculous than the idea of a man going to the continent, whether from
necessity or choice, merely to associate with Englishmen.
I asked him if he did not find Calais a very melancholy residence.
"No," answered Brummell, "not at all. I draw, read, study French,
and----"
"Play with that dirty French dog," interrupted I.
"_Finissez donc, Louis_," said he laughing, and encouraging the animal
to play tricks, leap on his _robe de chambre de Florence,_ and make a
noise. Then, turning to me. "There are some pretty French actresses at
Paris. I had such a sweet green shoe here just now. In short," added
Brummell, "I have never been in any place in my life, where I could not
amuse myself."
Brummell's table was covered with seals, chains, snuff-boxes and
watches: presents, as he said, from Lady Jersey and various other ladies
of high rank.
The only talent I could ever discover in this beau was that of having
well-fashioned the character of a gentleman, and proved himself a
tolerably good actor; yet, to a nice observer, a certain impenetrable,
unnatural stiffness of manner proved him but nature's journeyman after
all; but then his wig--his new French wig was nature itself.
From what I had heard of the hero's fall, I fully expected to have found
him reclined on a couch worn down to a skeleton, and with these lines
of the poor Cardinal Wolsey, or the like of them, ever and anon in his
mouth:
Go get thee from me!
I am poor fallen man.
No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours,
Or gild again the noble hoofs that waited
Upon my smiles.
Quite the contrary however was Brummell, who, had he not covered his
bald pate with the said model of a wig, would have looked just as usual.
At Paris, I found most of my friends just as I had left them. Rosabella
was delighted to see me. Nugent's old blue remise was still kept in
constant motion, rattling about the dirty streets of Paris after his
favourite women, and Amy's eyes still rolled and ogled her ugly Swiss
banker, Monsieur Grefule, who, being still cruel, my pen was employed
to melt his Swiss heart; but one might as well have attempted to thaw a
Swiss mountain-cape of ice.
I think it was during this visit of mine to Paris, that I happened
to be in want of money, an exigency by no means unusual with me; and,
having considered who was most likely to give it me, after vainly
applying to Argyle I fixed on Lord Byron, who was at that time in Italy:
and I addressed him as follows:
"Paris, 15_th March._
"MY DEAR LORD BYRON,--I hate to ask you for money, because
you ought not to pay anybody: not even turnpike men, postmen nor
tax-gathering men: for we are all paid ten-fold by your delicious
verses, even if we had claims on you, and I have none. However, I
only require a little present aid, and that I am sure you will not
refuse me, as you once refused to make my acquaintance because you
held me too cheap. At the same time, pray write me word that you
are tolerably happy. I hope you believe in the very strong interest
I take, and always shall take, in your welfare: so I need not prose
about it. God bless you, my dear Lord Byron.
"H.W."
By return of post, I received the following answer:
"Ravenna, _March_ 30_th._
"I have just received your letter, dated 15th instant, and
will send you fifty pounds, if you will inform me how I can remit
that sum; for I have no correspondence with Paris of any kind; my
letters of credit being for Italy; but perhaps you can get some one
to cash you a bill for fifty pounds on me, which I would honour,
or you can give me a safe direction for the remission of a bill to
that amount. Address to me at Ravenna, not Venice.
"With regard to my refusal, some years ago, to comply with a
very different request of yours, you mistook, or chose to mistake
the motive: it was not that 'I held you much too cheap' as you say,
but that my compliance with your request to visit you, would just
then have been a great wrong to another person: and, whatever you
may have heard, or may believe, I have ever acted with good faith
in things even where it is rarely observed, as long as good faith
is kept with me. I told you afterwards that I had no wish to hurt
your self-love, and I tell you so again, when you will be more
disposed to believe me.
"In answer to your wish that I shall tell you if I was
'happy,' perhaps it would be a folly in any human being to say so
of themselves, particularly a man who has had to pass through the
sort of things which I have encountered; but I can at least say
that I am not miserable, and am perhaps more tranquil than ever I
was in England.
"You can answer as soon as you please: and believe me
"Yours, &c.
"BYRON.
"P.S. Send me a banker's or merchant's address, or any
person's in your confidence, and I will get Langle, my banker at
Bologna, to remit you the sum I have mentioned.
"It is not a very magnificent one; but it is all I can spare
just now."
Answer:
"Paris, 30 Rue de la Paix.
"Ten thousand thanks, dear Lord Byron, for your prompt
compliance with my request. You had better send the money to me
here and I shall get it safe. I am very glad to learn that you
are more tranquil. For my part, I never aspired to being your
companion, and should be quite enough puffed up with pride, were
I permitted to be your housekeeper, attend to your morning cup of
chocolate, damn your night-cap, comb your dog, and see that your
linen and beds are well aired, and, supposing all these things were
duly and properly attended to, perhaps you might, one day or other
in the course of a season, desire me to put on my clean bib and
apron and seat myself by your side, while you condescended to read
me in your beautiful voice your last new poem!
"Apropos! I travelled with a man lately who had just left
you. I forget his name; a sort of a lawyer as I guessed, because
he would talk about the 'parties' every few minutes. No! he could
not be quite so bad as that neither. I don't know what he was;
but he had not the least mite of skin on his long, thin, straight
nose. That had been all entirely burnt off, he said, while he was
enjoying the charms of your delightful society at Venice. Heaven
defend me from such a nose, however poetically bestowed upon me!
Don Juan kept me up the whole of last night. I will not attempt to
describe its beauties, as they struck and delighted me; because
that would be at the expense of another night's rest: and, what can
I say to you, who know well that you are the first poet of this, I
am inclined to think of any, age? And, being this, as well as young
and beautiful, why condescend to resent our sins against you? A
common man might as well be angry with a wasp, as Lord Byron with
a common man, when he is waspish towards him, and let me ask you,
what harm the commandments ever did you or those who believe in
them since they teach nought but virtue. And what catchpenny ballad
writer could not write a parody on them as you have done? _Souviens
toi, comme tu es noble, et ne te mêle point de tout cela._ Let our
religion alone, till you can furnish us with a more perfect creed.
Till then, neither you nor Voltaire will ever enlighten the world
by laughing at it.
"It would serve me right, were you to refuse to send me what
you promised after my presumption in writing you this sermon.
However, I must be frank and take my chance, and, if you really
wish to convince me you bear no malice nor hatred in your heart,
tell me something about yourself; and do pray try and write a
little better, for I never saw such a vile hand as yours has
become. Was it never a little more decent? True, a great man
is permitted to write worse than ordinary people; _mais votre
écriture passe la permission_. Any one, casting a hasty glance
at one of your effusions, would mistake it for a washer-woman's
laboured scrawl, or a long dirty ditty from some poor soul just
married, who humbly begs the favour of a little mangling from the
neighbouring nobility, gentry, and others! Look to it, man! Are
there no writing-masters at Ravenna? Cannot you write straight at
least? Dean Swift would have taken you 'for a lady of England!'
"God bless you, you beautiful, little, ill-tempered,
delightful creature, and make you as happy as I wish you to be.
"HARRIETTE.
"Can I forward you a bundle of pens, or anything?"
Answer:
"Ravenna, _May_ 15_th._
"I enclose a bill for a thousand francs, a good deal short
of fifty pounds; but I will remit the rest by the very first
opportunity. Owing to the little correspondence between Langle,
the Bologna banker, I have had more difficulty in arranging
the remittance of this paltry sum, than if it had been as many
hundreds, to be paid on the spot. Excuse all this, also the badness
of my hand-writing, which you find fault with and which was once
better; but, like everything else, it has suffered from late hours
and irregular habits.
"The Italian pens, ink and paper are also two centuries behind
the like articles in other countries.
"Yours very truly and affectionately,
"BYRON.
"I should have written more at length, in reply to some parts
of your letter; but I am at 'this present writing' in a scrape
(not a pecuniary one, but personal, about one of your ambrosial
sex), which may probably end this very evening seriously. Don't be
frightened. The Italians don't fight: they stab a little now and
then; but it is not that, it is a divorce and separation; and, as
the aggrieved person is a rich noble and old, and has had a fit of
discovery against his moiety, who is only twenty years old, matters
look menacing.
"I must also get on horse-back this minute, as I keep a friend
waiting.
"Address to me at Ravenna as usual."
Lord Byron wrote me many letters at times; but I have lost or mislaid
them all, except those which I have herein given, and can show to any
one, who may be pleased to question their being really originals.
Here's a disaster--a multiplicity of disasters in short, as Lady Berwick
said one day, when the compound evils fell upon her. First, Peacock did
not send her shoes home. Secondly, Lord Berwick threw a large, hot leg
of mutton at his well-powdered footman's head. I will tell you why: the
stupid cook insisted on serving it up, unadorned by the smart piece
of writing-paper which is usually wrapped round the shank-bone. His
lordship had expostulated so often that, this time, he hoped to imprint
the fact more strongly on the memory by dousing the untouched, greasy
joint against his lacquey's brain. Now Sophia, it so chanced, was fond
of a slice of mutton. Thirdly, that little man in St. James' Street, who
sells box-combs, I forget his name, cut her hair at least an inch too
short on the forehead. Fourthly, Sophia could not match the silk she
wanted to finish a purse she happened to be netting for her handsome
harp-master, Boscha of ---- notoriety.
"One thing coming upon another," said Sophia, turning up her eyes as she
sat with her feet on the fender; "one thing coming upon another, I feel
I shall go mad." But, heavy as were her ladyship's afflictions, they
cannot reasonably be named in the same day with the tragic misadventures
which have been lately heaped on my poor little devoted shoulders.
I had proceeded nearly thus far with these my most valuable
_Memoirs_, and nearly thus much had been kindly forwarded by the late,
good-natured, obliging ambassador, Sir Charles Stuart.
_Hélas! les voilà passés, ces jours de fêtes!_ Sir Charles is sent to
India, and his place supplied by that self-same beau, whom I one Sunday
trotted up to Marylebone Fields in the dog-days, and did not order
him home again till he was expiring with fatigue and perspiration. It
just now occurs to me that I styled him Lord George, instead of Lord
Granville Leveson Gower, an error which I hasten to correct and in all
humility atone for: but it really is difficult to bear in mind the names
of those who do not excite in us the least interest. Now that the case
is altered, my readers perceive how readily I correct myself, having
addressed his lordship to this effect:
"My acquaintance with your lordship is very slight, since we
have met but once in our lives, and that was a long while ago.
Nevertheless, I hope you will prevent my feeling the loss of my
late kind friend, whom everybody likes, as far as permitting me to
forward my letters in the bag.
"You will thus, my lord, serve me just now most positively and
effectually, for which condescending kindness I shall ever remain
your lordship's obliged and most obedient servant,
"H. WILSON."
Lord Granville sent me a stiff formal note, which I have neither time
nor inclination to look for, stating his regrets that, owing to certain
regulations at the Foreign Office, he was compelled to refuse my request.
To which I replied:
"MY LORD,--I was looking about for a fool to fill up my book,
and you are just arrived in Paris in time to take the place, for
which I am indebted to you.
"Yours obliged and obediently,
"H.W."
In the following week, this most upright Plenipo's conscience growing
slack, he slackened the strings of the bag so far as to admit the
private correspondence of an acquaintance of mine, whose name he may
learn whenever he thinks it worth his while to apply for it to me, who
am his near neighbour.
To proceed with my disasters: the next was a pressing letter from
Stockdale, handed to me by bag, declaring that he must have the rest of
my _Memoirs,_ because folks began to think it was all an hoax, as Liston
or some other funny fellow says. _Que faire?_ Having, by some wonderful
chance or providence, contrived to scrape together two hundred francs, I
determined to cross the Channel once more; for I hate to break my word.
Arrived at Mr. Stockdale's house, 'willa' I would call it were it at
all cockneyish, I handed him over, as a plenipo-pacificator, the chief
part of my delectable memoirs. I conceived that my disasters were now
completely at an end, and I looked forwards to a rich harvest, with
unbounded applause.
Unfortunately, Stockdale, in a courteous fit, acquainted the immortal
Wellington that I was about to publish part of his private life, under
the impression, of course, that every act which relates to so great a
hero must be interesting.
Will it ever be believed? His Grace, in the meek humility of his heart,
has written to menace a prosecution if such trash be published. What
trash, my dear Wellington? Now, I will admit, for an instant, and it is
really very good of me, that you are an excellent judge of literature,
and could decide on the merits or demerits of a work with better taste
and judgment than the first of Edinburgh reviewers. Still, in order to
pronounce it trash, we should fancy that even Wellington himself must
throw a hasty glance on one of its pages at least. Quite the contrary.
Wellington knows himself to be the subject, and therefore wisely
prejudges the book trash one fortnight before it sees the light! So
far so good! But when my own Wellington, who has sighed over me, and
groaned over me by the hour, talked of my wonderful beauty, ran after
me, bribed Mrs. Porter over and over again, after I refused to listen
to her overtures, only for a single smile from his beautiful Harriette!
Did he not kneel? And was I not the object of his first, his most ardent
wishes, on his arrival from Spain? Only it was such a pity that Argyle
got to my house first. No matter! Though Argyle was not his rose, he
had dwelled with it; therefore, what could my tender swain Wellington
do better than stand in the gutter at two in the morning, pouring forth
his amorous wishes in the pouring rain, in strains replete with the
most heart-rending grief, to the favoured and fortunate lover who had
supplanted him, as Stockdale has indulged me by getting so inimitably
delineated. When, I say, this faithful lover, whose love survived six
winters, six frosts, six chilling, nay, killing frosts, when Wellington
sends the ungentle hint to my publisher, of hanging me, beautiful,
adored and adorable me, on whom he had so often hung! _Alors je pend la
tête!_ Is it thus he would immortalise me?
I do not mean to say that Wellington threatened to hang me, in so many
words: but honestly, it was something to say the least, not very unlike
it: viz., it assumed the questionable shape of ----. The prosecution
might take a different turn from the circumstance of my having written
to him, stating that I would certainly publish some anecdotes from real
life, to try to get paid for them, in case my tender lover refused me
some small assistance, to procure a little bread and cheese or so.
Of course, it could never enter the brain of any one, save that of
stupidity personified, to conceive that so great a man as Wellington,
ever did anything whatever, of which he was the least ashamed or minded
my publishing. Nevertheless, since he has threatened to bring forward
my soft epistles, in which I remember I wrote that old frights like
himself, who could not be contented with amiable wives, but must
run about to old procuresses, bribing them to decoy young girls, who
are living in perfect retirement in Duke's Row, Somers Town, and not
dreaming of harm, ought to pay us for the sacrifice they tempt us to
make, as well as for our secrecy. However, all I entreat of my late
tenderly enamoured wooer is, that he forthwith fulfil his threat and
produce these said letters in court: and, lest a small trifle of hanging
should be the result, but whether of him or me is yet to be seen, I'll
e'en make my will, and so good-bye to ye, old Bombastes Furioso.
Yet I scarcely know how to take leave of the subject, it affects me so
deeply! I should not have been half so much afraid of hanging, only I
was subpoenaed on a trial at the Old Bailey a short time ago, as witness
against a poor girl who stole a watch out of my house. She acknowledged
the fact, and was honourably acquitted!
"Och! the divel fly away wid all the world!" shrieked out my Irish cook,
a widow who had just lost her husband. "Sure my darlink's watch has been
stolen out of the kitchen."
She came flying into my room when I was ill in bed, and frightened me
half out of my wits.
"Nonsense!" said I. "Who could steal your watch, think you?"
"Och! Don't bother me now. Sure it was the last thing my own darlink
husband clapped his two good-looking eyes upon, before he died, and I'll
murder every mother's son of you, but I'll have my watch!"
"For God's sake look for your watch, you provoking, impertinent
creature, and don't stand there making a noise in my ears. Who on earth
could steal your watch?"
"Oh! by the Almighty God, it was hanging on a nail of the kitchen-shelf
half an hour ago, when I went out just to buy some petaties for my own
dinner."
"Why, not a soul has been here during your absence, except a very
interesting young woman, who did not appear to be more than seventeen
years of age. She has left her direction, as she wanted to be my
housemaid. I desired her to let herself out, and to be sure to shut the
street door after her. On her head she wore a straw bonnet with green
ribbons; but my room was rather dark, and that was all I noticed of her.
I scarcely think I should know her again."
My Irish cook raved, roared, stormed, and bellowed along the streets,
on her way to a magistrate, from whom, having obtained a warrant, she
passed three whole days in wandering about London to look for young
women with ribbons on their bonnets. Of these she contrived to coax
three or four to walk with her to my house; but, alas! they did not
include the person she wanted. At last she chanced to meet with a
young female about seventeen years of age, who blushed deeply when
she mentioned to her having been cruelly robbed of a watch. Without
hesitation she seized her by the arm, and observing how the young woman
trembled, under a promise of pardon prevailed on her to confess the
theft, and immediately had her taken into custody. Next day two officers
made me accompany them to Marlborough-street public office. The girl was
fully committed for trial and sent to Newgate, where I visited her, and
expressed my astonishment that so young a girl could commit so daring a
robbery. Her plea was, that a soldier had seduced her, she was pregnant
by him, and he loved her no longer. In short, her only chance of being
admitted to visit him rested in her having money to give him. Love had
made her so desperate, that she stole my Irish woman's watch on her way
downstairs, merely to ensure one more interview with her faithless lover.
Oh this love! this love!
For more than a week I was shut up all day long in the witness box at
the Old Bailey. The first evening, only petty offences were tried.
Two men for pig-stealing, a gentleman for stealing a piece of pickled
pork, and concealing it about the lower parts of his person. This,
notwithstanding it was a fundamental error, was pardoned, and excited
an expression of loud applause from the gallery auditors. The judge
reprimanded the noisy throng, with proper dignity, assuring them that,
if this indecent conduct was repeated, they should be severely punished.
The next morning I saw three men condemned to be hanged. The same judge
sat upon the bench. These dreadful scenes were new to me, and I was
overpowered with a violent hysterical affection, for which I expected
seven years transportation at least; but the judge, it should seem,
preferred the sound of sobs and tears to applause, from mere habit, for
he took no sort of notice of me. I forget his name. He was a very old
man, and spoke as if he took much snuff. I know not whether he or Denman
is most respected: but this I know, that, for my own part, next to not
being hanged at all, _plait à M. Wellington,_ I should like Denman to
pronounce sentence upon me: so pleasing a voice and so persuasive manner
I never witnessed, and the most placid, benevolent countenance! No one
could see him on the bench, and not feel the comfortable conviction of
his earnest wish to save the unfortunates, if it were consistent with
his duty. Now I could not help fancying that the learned and snuffy
judge was a little more convinced of the wholesomeness and convenience
of hanging, than either Denman, or our good King George.
There was a handsome young house-breaker, whose favourable witness
was his sweetheart. The judge, of course, declared that such evidence
was good for nothing. However, at the request of the house-breaker's
counsel, she was allowed to speak, although I don't think the oath was
administered to her.
"Are you a girl of the town?" asked the judge, to begin with.
The lady honestly owned she was, and, being further questioned by my
lord judge, she gave an account of her lover being taken out of her room
by two police officers.
"And did they not take you too?"
"No, my lord."
"A pity!"
I observed Andrews among the counsellors, with his beak-nose, looking
quite as wise and learned, as when he came forth a few years ago in
defence of Mrs. Bertram, formerly Mrs. Kent. This gentleman stared at me
with disgusting persevering effrontery. He seemed to me to be eternally
labouring for distinction, from his discovery of loop-holes and knotty
points in the law; but his attempts were invariably unsuccessful.
When it shall please the mighty Wellington to try to hang me, Andrews
certainly shall not plead in my behalf, to show cause why I should not
have such a rise in the world. I can get an old woman in petticoats to
prose for me for half the money!
Young Law, Lord Ellenborough's son, was a very smart, fine, young
gentleman, and his impatience of temper passed, I dare say occasionally,
for quickness. His wig was never straight on his head. I rather fancy
he liked to show his own good head of hair under it. He was constantly
explaining to the witnesses what the snuffy judge said to them, from
very impatience, and then again he would explain to my lud on the bench
the blunders and mistakes of witnesses.
Young Law cross-questioned an old woman in an antique costume.
"When you first beheld the deceased did you, from your own observation,
conceive him to be in a dying state?"
"He said he was very bad, sir."
"I do not ask you what he said, my good woman. I want to know what your
own opinion of his health was."
"Why, lord, sir, everybody said he was in a bad way: upon my word they
did."
"Come, come! This won't do, upon your word! What's upon your
word to do with it? Don't you know you are on your oath?
What--was--your--own--opinion, as to the man's state of health?"
"Oh law!" said the witness, and then paused. I thought, really, that
she was calling him by his name. "Oh law! I think he must have been but
poorly! very so so, indeed."
"My lud," said young Law, tossing up his little head with such
uncontrollable impatience towards the bench, as to shake out a cloud
of powder from his wig, "my lud, I am no match for this woman. She had
better be examined by some one more competent."
The good woman was desired to leave the witness-box.
I was in a rage with Phillip's brogue; because I should otherwise have
been so delighted with him. People say that a brogue is expressive; but
I think a little goes a great way.
When the learned judge began to sum up the evidence, I thought we never
should have done with it. I could not help naming him slow and sure,
from what I observed of him.
"Mary Allen states that--(holding the paper close to his eyes)--Mary
Allen states--she--states--she--no--she states--nothing--but
she--ah--no! Mary Allen states, that--ah! right! that she knew the
prisoner--when--when--when--Mary Allen states, that she knew the
prisoner when he lodged--yes--Mary Allen knew the prisoner, when
he--when he--when he--when he----"
"My lud!" said young Law, popping up his little powdered head again, in
a high fever of desperate impatience--"My lud! shall I order candles?"
Good-bye, judge snuffy. Heaven knows how soon you and I may meet again,
thanks to the great Wellington. It is a nervous subject to me, yet I
cannot help reverting to it. However, let us change it and proceed with
my _Memoirs._
There is surely something harsh and unmanly in threatening a woman with
any kind of law or prosecution, unless she were to do something much
worse than telling the truth: and there is a double want of gallantry
in threatening a fair lady, whose favours have been earnestly courted!
_N'est-ce pas?_
The man who lays his hand on a woman, save in the way of kindness, is a
monster, whom it were gross flattery to call coward.
Now what would this excellent author say to Mr. Jack Ketch's hand being
laid on one, and that not quite in the way of kindness either? Yet,
if all the lords and law-givers are like Wellington, in the habit of
threatening poor devils of authors and book-sellers with prosecution,
hanging, and destruction, as often as they are about to publish any
facts, which do not altogether redound to their honour and glory, while
they modestly swallow all the _outré_ applause which may be bestowed
on their luck or their talents for killing men and winning battles, I
can no longer be surprised that even Beaufort has maintained his good
character up to this present writing, since publishers will quake when
heroes bully.
There's no spirit nowadays.