LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
Documents Biography Criticism

The Autobiography of William Jerdan
Poems by Jerdan

Vol. I. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Introductory
Ch. 2: Childhood
Ch. 3: Boyhood
Ch. 4: London
Ch. 5: Companions
Ch. 6: The Cypher
Ch. 7: Edinburgh
Ch. 8: Edinburgh
Ch. 9: Excursion
Ch. 10: Naval Services
Ch. 11: Periodical Press
Ch. 12: Periodical Press
Ch. 13: Past Times
Ch. 14: Past Times
Ch. 15: Literary
Ch. 16: War & Jubilees
Ch. 17: The Criminal
Ch. 18: Mr. Perceval
Ch. 19: Poets
Ch. 20: The Sun
Ch. 21: Sun Anecdotes
Ch. 22: Paris in 1814
Ch. 23: Paris in 1814
Ch. 24: Byron
Vol. I. Appendices
Scott Anecdote
Burns Anecdote
Life of Thomson
John Stuart Jerdan
Scottish Lawyers
Sleepless Woman
Canning Anecdote
Southey in The Sun
Hood’s Lamia
Murder of Perceval
Vol. II. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Literary
Ch. 2: Mr. Canning
Ch. 3: The Sun
Ch. 4: Amusements
Ch. 5: Misfortune
Ch. 6: Shreds & Patches
Ch. 7: A Character
Ch. 8: Varieties
Ch. 9: Ingratitude
Ch. 10: Robert Burns
Ch. 11: Canning
Ch. 12: Litigation
Ch. 13: The Sun
Ch. 14: Literary Gazette
Ch. 15: Literary Gazette
Ch. 16: John Trotter
Ch. 17: Contributors
Ch. 18: Poets
Ch 19: Peter Pindar
Ch 20: Lord Munster
Ch 21: My Writings
Vol. II. Appendices
The Satirist.
Authors and Artists.
The Treasury
Morning Chronicle
Chevalier Taylor
Foreign Journals
Vol. III. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Literary Pursuits
Ch. 2: Literary Labour
Ch. 3: Poetry
Ch. 4: Coleridge
Ch 5: Criticisms
Ch. 6: Wm Gifford
Ch. 7: W. H. Pyne
Ch. 8: Bernard Barton
Ch. 9: Insanity
Ch. 10: The R.S.L.
Ch. 11: The R.S.L.
Ch. 12: L.E.L.
Ch. 13: L.E.L.
Ch. 14: The Past
Ch. 15: Literati
Ch. 16: A. Conway
Ch. 17: Wellesleys
Ch. 18: Literary Gazette
Ch. 19: James Perry
Ch. 20: Personal Affairs
Vol. III. Appendices
Literary Poverty
Ismael Fitzadam
Mr. Tompkisson
Mrs. Hemans
A New Review
Debrett’s Peerage
Procter’s Poems
Poems by Others
‣ Poems by Jerdan
Vol. IV. Front Matter
Ch. 1: Critical Glances
Ch. 2: Personal Notes
Ch. 3: Fresh Start
Ch. 4: Thomas Hunt
Ch. 5: On Life
Ch. 6: Periodical Press
Ch. 7: Quarterly Review
Ch. 8: My Own Life
Ch. 9: Mr. Canning
Ch. 10: Anecdotes
Ch. 11: Bulwer-Lytton
Ch. 12: G. P. R. James
Ch. 13: Finance
Ch. 14: Private Life
Ch. 15: Learned Societies
Ch. 16: British Association
Ch. 17: Literary Characters
Ch. 18: Literary List
Ch. 19: Club Law
Ch. 20: Conclusion
Vol. IV. Appendix
Gerald Griffin
W. H. Ainsworth
James Weddell
The Last Bottle
N. T. Carrington
The Literary Fund
Letter from L.E.L.
Geographical Society
Baby, a Memoir
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K. page 301.

I hope there is no reader on earth who would be so cruel to an autobiographer—a person who acts the part of a great medicine for the cure of the bile—as to deny him the comfort of two or three pages of Appendix to fill up the sheet with a few trifling specimens of his other writings.

When Haydon’s “Christ’s entry into Jerusalem” was exhibited in the Egyptian Hall, M. Jerricault’s “Raft of the
Medusa” was opened in the room below; and passing from the former to the latter,
Wilkie was amused with a pun, which I thus put into rhyme—

Down Bullock’s stair a wit, who punned and laught,
From Haydon’s picture went to see the Raft.

Quoth he—

“It is a desperate way on foot to go,
Quite from Jerusalem to Jericho!”
Really, P ——, I am sorry you thought of this thing—
The pleasures of both it will cramp;
For your poor wife will feel she’s “the Slave of the Ring,”
Whilst you are “the Slave of the Lamp.”

These, I venture to say, in order to anticipate criticism, belong to the class which Lord Brougham calls knob-bed epigrams, on account of their want of point. But any epigram is better than none: witness James Smith’s, when asked to write on the statue of George III., in Cockspur-street—
A pigtail of copper
Is not proper—
A very poor piece of fine-art criticism, and only equalled by the bard of a Highland chief, seldom seen in the garb of old Gaul, who, on a similar request, shouted
In the Tartan
He looks like a Spartan—
The sequel was stopped by laughter. As some amends I will quote a capital one, by
Miss Rose Wheeler, who soon after became Mrs. Bulwer. At a small evening party at Mrs. Bishop’s (see page 180), it was proposed that we should all go to Mr. De Ville’s the next day and have our casts taken. The only recusant was a young surgeon who was there with his “intended,” and he stood out so pertinaciously that his “beauty” began to pout and demand reasons—the truth was, his hair was carroty and dyed. At last, alarmed at his mistress’s resentment, he
yielded to go, and Miss Wheeler, borrowing a pencil from me, wrote (under the rose for my perusal) the following impromptu:—
Poor fellow, to her frown he yields at last,
No more he can resist her angry eye:
Now he has set his all upon a cast,
And he will stand the hazard of the dye.

On the Duke of York’s horse, “Moses,” winning at Ascot, I pleased H. R. H. with a jeu

At Ascot when swift Moses won
(A thing not done by slow fits)
What thought his royal owner on?
He thought, the joke I’ll tell to you,
(His Highness is a Bishop too,)
On Moses and the Profits.
Patient.—Doctor, (h) I’m wery (h) ill (h) indeed,
(H) and vant fresh (h) air (h) I’m feeling.
Doctor.—You must be lowered, buy a vig,
And get a nouse at (h) Ealing.
Keeping Tom’s wedding-day, his friends
Boozed till their brains were addled;
They drank his “Bridal Day!” Tom sighed
“That same day I was saddled.”
Poor Helen’s dead! said punning Ned,
His eyes with tears (of joy) flowing;
Hark to that bell,—I’m passing well,
Although there is my Nell going.
A woman’s vow is far too long
Upon the marriage-day;
For surely where a woman loves,
She’ll honour and obey.
I taught love to as warm a heart
As e’er within a bosom beat;
Above, I saw ’twas Etna’s snow,
Below, I felt ’twas Etna’s heat.
Alas, alas, how is it now?
That heart’s warm pulses all are told,
That living snow soil’d by the grave,
That bosom’s fires for ever cold.
For me the light of love is o’er:
What have I then with life to do?
I ne’er can taste its joys again—
But, Mela, I can follow you!
Fat Moll, the cook, who had a certain spice
Of humour in her, even though out of place,
By advertising gave the town advice
That she was willing to renew her race,
And roast, and boil, and bake, and stew, and sweat, and pant,
For any regular “Plain Family” in want.
Now Mrs. Mugg, whose features grim and droll,
Were imaged in her children and her spouse,
To take her place invited monstrous Moll;
Who cried, whilst looking at the ill-looked house,
For Ordinary, or for Plain, I’d toil ’tis true,
But curse me if I’ll cook for such an ugly crew.
[This was signed “Dr. Kitchiner.”]