The Sun.
London, England, 1856-03-03 00:00:00

and not only to the base metals to to got out of
popular books as well as out of popular anything.,
but into the ex3lusive circles of fashion, the
via lactea of the gay world down which float only
the cre,ne de la creme ! Iwomuc't that the young
Irelauder who, at eleven years of age, was screech-
ing from a window over his father's shop.as Grate
tan and Fitzgerald were carried by in triumph on
their joint election for the city of Dublin—[Moore,
rendering himself, he tells us (i. 13, ?tete), "so
conspicuous by the enthusiasm with which I waved
a largo branch of laurel, that I either caught or tv
fancied I caught the particular notice of Grattan,
and was, of course, prodigiously proud in -cense-
quence"]—insoinueh, we say, was the young: Irish-
man of letters successful in gaining admission to
the higher circles of the metropolis, that he who at
thirteen was proud of being taken for a few m nutea
on the knee of Nipper Tandy, at twenty-one was
basking in the smile—was actually living and
breathing in the sublime- pees Vince of his Royal
Highness,Geo •ge, Prince of Wales. Yes—positively
enjoying the civilities, almost the familiarities of—
Fern the Fourth ! Wonderful privilege ! Listen
to the audible gusto with which Moore tells the
blissful tale of their introduction. He is writing
to his mother. The letter is dated August 4, 1800:
—" Yesterday," ho says, " I was introduced to
his Royal Highness, George, Prince of Wales. He
is beyond doubt a man of very fascinating manners.
When I was presented to him, he said lie s.as very
happy to know a man of my abilities [the italics are
Moore's own] ; and when .1 thanked him for tho
honour he did me in permitting the dedication of
Auacreon, he stopped me and said, the honour was
entirely his in being allowed to put his naive to a
work of such merit." [What is it the Scotch say ?
" Ciaw me, claw thee !"] "He then said that he
hoped, when he returned to town in the winter, wo
should have many opportunities of enjoying each
other's society," &c., Moore adding, as it were with
a smack of the lips, while he laments that the am-
brosial interview cost him a now coat—" Is not all
this very fine ?" Eleven years after he is still in
the blissful illusiow7-still hugging himself in the
luxury of being countenanced by writing
to his mother in a letter dated Friday, June 21,
1811, " The Prince spoke to me, as he always
does, with the cordial familiarity of an old ac-
quaintance." Ali ! poor human poet—you, were
under the glamour then of a Princely eye, and had
net an inkling of anything at all like vaticinstion.
No lyrical cry came from your heart then like that
articulated only the other day,' in burning words,
by our own manly-hearted, and yet no less
worn•inly-hearted, Charles Mackay—
" Stand up, man ! stand !
God's over all.
Why de you erin,,,e to me,
Why do you bend the knee,
And creep, and fawn, and crawl l
Stand up, man ! stand !"
Not a notion had you then how soon H.R.H. was
to dwindle down into Fun the Fourth of your
own burlesque christening ; or of how the very
year afterwards (March 6, 1812) you yourself were
to be sneering at George, Prince of Wales, in a letter
to Miss Godfrey, speaking of him as the " precious
gentleman," who "once blubbered when he was
told that Brummel did not like the cut of his Coat!'
Ab, well—the days of enlightenment were to come
aeon enough. Let us leave the poor bright:-eyed
young Irish poet for a while contentedly in the
first flush of his entrance into the loftier regions
of fashion—when he could find eonsolation even for
tin inopportune addition tfoyhalissntaoiblo,yr—'s bill in thebe
courtly palavering of a “
was fairly running a muck at the behest of my
Lord Moira, after what he himself ultimately' COW.
fessed to be the " will o' the wisp." of his life, a sham
patronage, leading not by a hates breadth to the
smallest modicum of advancement.
(To be continued.)