154 — To R. C. Dallas
Volage
Frigate, at sea, June 28, 1811.
After two years' absence (to a day, on the 2d of July, before which we shall not arrive at Portsmouth), I am retracing my way to England. I have, as you know, spent the greater part of that period in Turkey, except two months in Spain and Portugal, which were then accessible. I have seen every thing most remarkable in Turkey, particularly the Troad, Greece, Constantinople, and Albania, into which last region very few have penetrated so high as Hobhouse and myself. I don't know that I have done anything to distinguish me from other voyagers, unless you will reckon my swimming from Sestos to Abydos, on May 3d, 1810, a tolerable feat for a
modern
.
I am coming back with little prospect of pleasure at home, and with a body a little shaken by one or two smart fevers, but a spirit I hope yet unbroken. My affairs, it seems, are considerably involved, and much business must be done with lawyers, colliers, farmers, and creditors. Now this, to a man who hates bustle as he hates a bishop, is a serious concern. But enough of my home department.
I find I have been scolding Cawthorn without a cause, as I found two parcels with two letters from you on my return to Malta. By these it appears you have not received a letter from Constantinople, addressed to Longman's, but it was of no consequence.
My Satire, it seems, is in a fourth edition, a success rather above the middling run, but not much for a production which, from its topics, must be temporary, and of course be successful at first, or not at all. At this period, when I can think and act more coolly, I regret that I have written it, though I shall probably find it forgotten by all except those whom it has offended. My friend Hobhouse's
Miscellany
has not succeeded; but he himself writes so good-humouredly on the subject, I don't know whether to laugh or cry with him. He met with your son at Cadiz, of whom he speaks highly.
Yours
and Pratt's
protégé
, Blacket
, the cobbler, is dead, in spite of his rhymes, and is probably one of the instances where death has saved a man from damnation. You were the ruin of that poor fellow amongst you: had it not been for his patrons, he might now have been in very good plight, shoe- (not verse-) making; but you have made him immortal with a vengeance. I write this, supposing poetry, patronage, and strong waters, to have been the death of him.
If
you are in town in or about the beginning of July, you will find me at Dorant's, in Albemarle Street, glad to see you
. I have an imitation of Horace's
Art of Poetry
ready for Cawthorn, but don't let that deter you, for I sha'n't inflict it upon you. You know I never read my rhymes to visiters. I shall quit town in a few days for Notts., and thence to Rochdale. I shall send this the moment we arrive in harbour, that is a week hence.
Yours ever sincerely,
Byron
.
Footnote 1:
For Pratt, see page 186,
1.
Footnote 2:
Joseph Blacket (1786-1810) has his place in
English Bards
(lines 765, 798) and
Hints from Horace
(line 734). The son of a labourer, and himself by trade a cobbler, he wrote verses in which Pratt saw signs of genius. A volume of his poetry was published in 1809, under the title of
Specimens
, edited by Pratt. Among those who befriended him were Elliston the actor, Dallas, and Miss Milbanke, afterwards Lady Byron (see
English Bards
, lines 770, and
note
1). His
Remains
were collected and published by Pratt in 1811 for the benefit of Blacket's orphan daughter, with a dedication to "the Duchess of Leeds, Lady Milbanke and family" (see
, and
Hints from Horace
, line 734, and Byron's
note
). In the suppressed edition of Dallas's
Correspondence of Lord Byron
(pp. 127, 128) occurs the following passage, from which, if Dallas's grammar is to be trusted, it seems that the famous epitaph on Blacket was not Byron's composition. Dallas
'"was persuaded by Mr. Pratt's warmth to see some sparkling of genius in the effusions of this young man (Blacket). It was upon this that Lord Byron and a young friend of his were sometimes playful in conversation, and in writing to me.
I see,' says the latter, 'that Blacket the Son of Crispin and Apollo is dead.' Looking into Boswell's Life of Johnson the other day, I saw, 'We were talking about the famous Mr. Wordsworth, the poetical Shoemaker.' Now, I never before heard that there had been a Mr. Wordsworth a Poet, a Shoemaker, or a famous man; and I dare say you have never heard of him. Thus it will be with Bloomfield and Blackett — their names two years after their death will be found neither on the rolls of Curriers' Hall nor of Parnassus. Who would think that anybody would be such a blockhead as to sin against an express proverb, Ne sutor ultra crepidam?
'But spare him, ye Critics, his follies are past,
For the Cobler is come, as he ought, to his last.'
Which two lines, with a scratch under last, to show where the joke lies, I beg that you will prevail on Miss Milbanke to have inserted on the tomb of her departed Blacket."
It should be added that the shoemaking poet was not Wordsworth, but Woodhouse.
Footnote 3:
Dallas called on Byron at Reddish's Hotel, St. James's Street, July 15, 1811, and received from him the MS. of
Hints from Horace
. Byron finished the work March 12, 1811, at the Franciscan Convent at Athens, where he found a copy of the
De Arte Poeticâ
. (
Hints from Horace
were not, however, published till 1831.) On July 16 Dallas called again, and expressed surprise that Byron had written nothing else. Byron then produced out of his trunk
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
, saying, "They are not worth troubling you with, but you shall have them all with you if you like." He was as reluctant to publish
Childe Harold
as he was eager to publish
Hints from Horace
.
