"Whether his height, or a restlessness of nervous system, originated the habit or not, it is certain he scarcely ever sat down. He composed walking about; and in society save at the dinner or suppertable, he rarely sat down. So necessary was movement to him that most probably had he been tied to a chair, with the added doom of a prosy companion, he would have exploded and gone off like a rocket, or a bottle of sparkling champagne. Standing in a circle chatting, his vivacity of manner, his elevated look, and empressement of delivery, movement, and action, cheated one out of the idea of his size; and whenever Moore's voice was heard, a knot of listeners eagerly gathered round.

Generally his conversation was more brilliant than profound, but it was full of point and observation, and had always the charm of unreserve and natural flow-the outwelling of thought. Nor, master as he was of the light artillery of satire, did he ever indulge in sarcasm or ill-natured remark, although he could see the ridiculous points of human character, and describe them with happy humour.

"When singing, Moore was the impersonation of all we could imagine of poet and musician combined in the bard. His song was an inspired recitative, rather than a musical performance. He seemed to improvise as he ran his fingers over the notes; and as the tide of thought came over him, it was poured forth in harmonious cadences of exquisite variety; the low-breathed whisper or the highest note, told home to the ear, and found an echo in the heart of every listener. A low sad tone occasionally broke through his gayest song,

like the distant moan of the wind through a sunlit forest. This peculiarity of voice rendered his singing of an Irish melody touching and appropriate; for one characteristic of the true Irish music is its capability of slow or quick time, and an almost melancholy sweetness pervading. Moore alluding to this in his admirable letter to the Marchioness of Donegall, on music, says Perhaps we may look no farther than the last disgraceful century for the origin of most of those wild and melancholy airs, which were at once the offspring and solace of grief, and were applied to the mind, as music was formerly to the body, decantare loca dolentia.'

"Elsewhere he says, 'The language of sorrow, however, is best adapted to our music;' and, indeed, whether this be or not the prevailing character of music, the sad tone we have alluded to gave a charm to Moore's singing-a touch of pathos and feeling even to what was playful and light.

Applause was necessary to elicit his full power and pleasure in singing; for without the latter he had little of the former. He would not sing merely for singing's sake, to fulfil a devoir in society, or conform to usage. It was no motive of vanity which made him desire applause; it was, perhaps, partly the leaven of his younger days, and the habit which had grown from it; partly the nervousness of temperament, and that diffidence of his own powers, for which even his friend Byron often rated him. But, above everything, it arose from thishe felt what he sang. His songs were pre-eminently those of passion and thought; he sought to give to music-to the sensations which it had excited in his own breast-a voice, an utterance. He could only

judge of the effect upon his audience by their excited interest; which, despite conventionalism, when aroused, always found expression in applause.

Thus encouraged-thus satisfied that his listeners were with him, his bardic pride and spirit were aroused, and his habit was to sing many songs consecutively; changing from grave to gay, from sad and low to spirited, wild, and martial, as some fair prompter would dictate. For, truth to tell he loved to be surrounded at the piano by the young and lovely of that sex to which his earliest and warmest effusions had been devoted. And if he had a particle of the coxcomb in his nature, their crowding zeal, their devoted admiration of the poet, must have touched the weak point in the man. It was not the fault of his fair admirers if he were not thoroughly spoiled.

"In 1835 the British Association met in Dublin, and it is but truth to say, that amidst the galaxy of notabilities the Irish bard was still the fixed star of admiration; nay, sometimes might he have been more likened to a comet, from the tail of followers. Moore was, of course, everywhere at the dinners, reunions and soirées; and everywhere was an object of attraction.

"He was constantly accompanied, I had almost said attended, by his friend and admirer, Dr. Hume, whose tall figure, steady gait, and grave countenance, contrasted somewhat amusingly with Tom Moore's small smartly-dressed figure and sparkling countenance. Hume had been Moore's second in the unlucky duel with Jeffrey, and in consequence of his maladroitness in the matter, a coolness ensued between the friends, which continued for years.

A reconciliation took place, and the worthy Doctor, having long before proved himself a bad second in duelling matters, was determined to prove himself second to none in devotion to his former principal. Indeed, he rather monopolised the 'lion,' and it was often a puzzle that his attentions did not wear ont the patience of their victim. His friendship was, however, sincere, albeit excessive in its zeal.

"One day they found their way in company to the old house in Aungier-street, and going into the shop, asked if Mr. Moore had not formerly lived in that house? Yes,' was the reply, and it was in this house that Sir Thomas Moore was born.' The poet could not help smiling at the new title he had acquired, and which was not, we presume, any gratuitous honour, but one resulting from some confusion of ideas about the poet and the statesman of a former age, or perhaps, resulted from an idea that one so distinguished must have a title.

"Moore asked as a favour to be allowed up stairs; and it is easy to imagine with what feelings he visited every portion of the house consecrated by the recollection of the best of parents,' early associates, and happy homes. Above all, he should get up to the little upper room, one window of which looks into Little Longford street, at the corner of which the house stands; here had been his own sanctum, and here he had got up his little theatricals. How changed was the visitor from the boyish inhabitant of those rooms forty years before? Who but himself, in that moment of retrospection, could say how far the world-wide fame he then enjoyed had exceeded or fallen short of the picturings of the boy's ambition !

"Fidus Achates had taken care, in the course of the visit, to pass the word who was the little visitor; and on hospitable cares intent, the good lady of the mansion had cakes and wine' in the drawingroom when they descended. All the young people were presented in due order, and no doubt, in the family chronicles the poet's visit to the house of his birth is well preserved."

Moore and Campbell were warm friends, though their friendship was for a time interrupted. In the New Monthly Magazine (March, 1830), . Campbell reviewed the first volume of Moore's Life of Byron, in the following flattering strain :

"No condensing powers which we can command will compress within our narrow limits any thing like a competent conception of the merits of this very able work. We can give but a glance, and we confess a glance at such a performance seems a mockery. We hope to make some compensation when the whole is before us. It is not half a dozen sentences that will exhaust our admiration of the genius of Lord Byron, or express our warm feeling of the brilliant talents of his scarcely less distinguished friend. They are equally blessed; the one in his biographer, the other in his subject. Sure we are there exists no other person so equal to the task of delineating the character, anything but simple, of the noble poet-none that knew him so thoroughly-none at once so capable of estimating his real feelings, and so completely up to his artificial ones-none more acute in discriminating the venial from the perverse-none that could better tell where he was serious and where he was mystifying, or discover when he was concealing