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The Autobiography of William Jerdan
Letitia Landon to William Jerdan, [30 June 1834]

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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“35, Rue-le-Grand, Lundi,
“which being done into English means Monday.
Dear Sir,

“I hope you will not think that I intend writing you to death; but I cannot let this opportunity pass. Miss Montgomery leaves Paris to-morrow, and so write I must. I am quite surprised that I should have so little to tell you; but really I have nothing, as ill-luck would have it. I went to call on Madame Tastu, from whom I received a charming note, and while I was out Monsieur Sainte Beuve and Monsieur Odillon Barrot called; however, the latter wrote to me offering his services as cicerone, &c., and I expect him this morning. M. Heine called yesterday; a most pleasant person. I am afraid he did not think me a personne bien spirituelle, for you know it takes a long time with me to get over the shame of speaking to a stranger by way of conversation. He said, ‘Mademoiselle donc a beaucoup couru les boutiques?’ ‘Mais non.’ ‘A-t-elle été au Jardin des Plantes?’ ‘Mais non.’ ‘Avez vous été à l’opéra, aux théatres?’ ‘Mais non.’ ‘Peut-être Mademoiselle aime la promenade?’ ‘Mais non.’ ‘A-t-elle donc apporté beaucoup de livres, ou peut-être elle écrit?’ ‘Mais non.’ At last, in seeming despair, he exclaimed, ‘Mais Mademoiselle, qu’est que ce donc, qu’elle a fait?’ ‘Mais—mais—j’ai regardé par la fenetre.’ Was there ever anything si bête? but I really could think of nothing else. I am enchanted with Madame Tastu; her manners are so kind, so encouraging. I did not feel much embarrassed after the first. She has fine features, though there was something about her face that put me in mind of Miss Roberts; but with a softened expression. If I had known as much of Paris as I do even
now, I would not have come. In the first place, there is nobody here; à la campagne is almost the universal, answer. Secondly, it is of no use coming with only a lady; I might almost as well have stayed in London. Thirdly, it is too short a time; I shall not have made a little acquaintance before I must leave. Fourthly, Miss Turin, though she has been here so often, knows nothing of the customs, &c. Her sole reason for coming to Paris is to see the dresses, shops, &c., and her idea of a delightful morning is shopping; also she has been and is so ill. Fifthly, one ought to be married; and sixthly, I wish myself at home again. If I had the opportunity, the time, and could procure the books, I am sure a most delightful series of articles might be written on French literature. We know nothing of it; and it would require an immense deal of softening and adaptation to suit it to English taste. The soirées are where I should have met all the French littérateurs; but none are being given just now. It is like London in the month of September. Miss Gibbon is going to her sister’s next week; and then I really shall not know what to do with myself. I can perfectly understand Paris being delightful, but it must be under other circumstances. I like the manners of the people very much; the servants even have a way of expressing themselves—tout à fait particulier. We have delightful weather, not too hot. How well you have done ‘
The Revolutionary Epic;’ though with less vanity, Disraeli has all the elements of a great poet; but there is something wanting in the putting together. Taste is his great deficiency.

“I quite dread—though impatient for it—my journey back again. I shall never make a traveller. I am far too indolent, and do not care for seeing. My pleasure comes in at my ears. Lady Kingsmill, too, called the morning I
L. E. L.197
went to
Madame Tastu. She asked me to spend the evening there to-day, and I am going. Last night we went to la maison de campagne of a French gentleman. The garden prettily laid out, while the vines and acacias gave it quite a foreign look. The flowers are so beautiful. Such carnations and such geraniums. One gentleman was seized with such a fit of poetry, that he wrote some verses in my honour, with a pea-pod on a cabbage leaf. Nothing can equal the noise of this place. I cannot even hear myself think.

“Well, adieu, au révoir.

“Yours very truly,