Mr. Moore

“ My time for laughing will come later."
"The later the better," said Moore. "He who laughs last laughs best. Delay it as long as you can, and you will enjoy it the more."
"No doubt, Mr. Moore. Good afternoon to you, Mistress Dyke. Sir, I 'm your most obedient."
"Good-day, Sir Percival," said Bessie, dropping a courtesy as the baronet turned again at the door. Then, as his tall figure vanished from the threshold, she faced her lover with a little sigh of relief.
"Tom," she said reprovingly, "you must not speak as you do to Sir Percival. For a little while I feared you would have a real quarrel." ”

“ As it is, I only returned from there two days ago, so you see, Mr. Moore, you are one of the first of my friends to receive a call from me."
"I am honored," replied Moore, politely, sitting down on the other side of the fireplace.
"No doubt you are wondering what has brought me to see you?"
"I can't deny a slight curiosity, my lord," admitted Moore, smiling back at the young nobleman, whose charming manner was winning his confidence in spite of his previous suspicions. ”

“ Moore was waiting for his answer, but she was deliberate of manner and speech.
“By what right are you questioning me, Mr. Moore?” she said.
“Principally by right of my interest in you and your welfare and my great desire to be of service to you.” Kee’s sincerity was beyond all doubt.
“That is the truth?”
“Yes, Miss Remsen, that is the truth.” ”

“ Moore; or, better still, tonight’s. Perhaps they will inform you.”
He was as angry as I had expected him to be, but as this ire proved conclusively that his strongest emotion had been curiosity rather than fear, I felt assured of my ground, and turned to reenter the house. Mr. Moore did not accompany me.
The major was standing in the hall. The others had evidently retreated to the parlor.
“The man opposite knows what he knows,” said I; “but this does not include the facts concerning the picture in the southwest chamber or the devilish mechanism.” ”

“ Moore staring at Karl through the room's twilight.
"You must speak more plainly, Sir Karl, if you wish me to understand." And Karl continued thoughtfully, weighing every word as he spoke it, that it might not harm his brother.
"The case is this, Mr. Moore. I hold in my keeping a dangerous secret. It concerns a--a friend: a gentleman who has managed to put himself in peril of the law. For the present he is evading the law; keeping himself, in fact, concealed alike from enemies and friends, with the exception of one or two who are--I may say--helping to screen him. ”

“ Oh, sir, it means more than life to me. It is my whole future. It's love, it's honor. I beg that you will not use my extremity to drive me to despair. Surely my work is worth as much as it was a week ago when you would have gladly accepted such terms as I offer you now?"
"That is not the question," replied McDermot, coldly. "Ha' the goodness to get out o' my way, Mr. Moore."
Moore seized the publisher by the arm.
"An old man's liberty, perhaps his life; the happiness and good name of a mere girl depend upon me, sir. I have no other way of raising the money. Have pity." ”

“ Moore called after him, leaning over the banisters.
"Have you the rint?" came from below in the unmistakably Hibernian accents of Mrs. Malone.
"No, I have n't, have you?" shouted the disgusted poet, and hastening back into the room, he shut the door.
"Rank halmost as 'igh as 'im," exclaimed Buster, indignantly. "Well Hi likes 'is himpudence. Say, Mr. Moore, Hi thinks that hold cove is daffy."
"They say genius is akin to madness," replied Moore, stowing the poem away in the drawer of the table, where he kept many productions of his own. ”

“ Fitz," said Brummell, languidly, "his Highness is searching for you, or I misread his behavior."
"If that is the case," replied Mrs. FitzHerbert, smiling into existence the prettiest dimple in the world, "there is only one thing for me to do."
"To hide, Mrs. FitzHerbert," suggested Moore, who understood all women save one; at least it was to this effect that he flattered himself.
"Really, Mr. Moore, you should have been born a woman."
"Not so," said the poet, "for then, like other women, I should be blind to the good fortune of his Highness in enjoying your ladyship's favor." ”

“ Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.
We have already noticed the taste of Mr. Moore for music. "Nor has he neglected those more solid attainments which should ever distinguish the well-bred gentleman, for he is an excellent general scholar, and particularly well-read in the literature of the middle ages. His conversational powers are great, and his modest and unassuming manners have placed him in the highest rank of cultivated society." Although his reputation is so well established, he speaks of himself with his wonted modesty. ”

“ Moore’s subject is amatory, his poetry is very little in the style of those baneful effusions which are undergoing so rigorous an examination. His verse is here fanciful and gentlemanly, full of his subject, and, as far as our English souls can judge, faithfully expressing it. Nothing can be more pathetic than “Oh! breathe not his name;” nothing more brilliant than “Fly not yet, ’tis just the hour;” and nothing more poetical than “As a beam o’er the face of the waters may glow.” We must be indulged in quoting one of those effusions of Mr. Moore’s genius ”

“ Believe me, it is with regret I perceive the taint of cynicism in an otherwise charming character."
"Yes, sir," answered Mr. Slink. "Yes, sir. Them is just my own sentiments, but I have a large family, and one that I may say, proudly and truthfully, sir, is on the steady increase."
"My sympathy to you in your misfortune," said Moore, hastily. "Ah, England owes much of her advancement to her noble citizens. It is such men as you make possible the Orphan Asylums, for without the young and deserving what would become of such worthy institutions?" ”

“ By the way, how is that distinguished philanthropist, Sir Percival Lovelace?"
"You must not sneer at him, Thomas. Bessie and I owe everything to him."
"Never fear. He expects to be paid one way or another," growled Moore, full of suspicions but absolutely lacking in proof.
"Thanks to his influence, my verses are much in demand. No doubt you have seen a number of them published?"
"I have that, and read them eagerly. Ah, you too are getting up in the world, Mr. Dyke."
"I flatter myself it is so," replied the old gentleman pompously. "Shall I speak a word to Sir Percival in your favor, Thomas? ”

“ Slink; but, of course, before I part with my money I naturally desire to be certain that the boots fit me."
"All right," said the cobbler, undoing his parcel. "Sit you down, Mr. Moore, and I 'll exhibit my wares."
Moore took the stool brought to him by Buster, and the cobbler, kneeling down, proceeded with sundry pulls and pushes to inclose his foot in the new shoe.
"Easy, easy!" said Moore, clutching the bottom of the stool, to keep from being shoved off it. "You are not pushing a cart, even if you are driving a bargain, Mr. Slink." ”

“ Why not, sir?"
"Your work is most worthy," answered Mr. Gannon, "but who are you?"
"I don't--quite--know," faltered Moore, stunned by the sudden casting down of his so recently raised hopes.
"Ahem--er--er--nor does any one else," continued the clerk, pitilessly. "Mr. McDermot bade me say that to obtain success at the present time a book must be dedicated to some great figure of fashion."
"But I know none, sir," replied the disconsolate poet, sinking limply back on his stool. "I know none, sir."
"Just so,--er--er--ahem,--Mr. Moore," said Mr. Gannon, gravely. "You know none ”

“ Buster, the door for Mr. Dibble."
"I am not going yet, and my name is Dabble, not Dibble."
Moore waved Buster back as that pugnacious youth was about to lay violent hands on the clerk.
"Your father is responsible for your name. He is much to blame, Dibble. If I were you, I 'd sue the old man for damages."
"I see you have no intention of paying this bill, Mr. Moore," said the clerk, abandoning hope of collection.
"You must be a mind reader," observed Moore. "You could make a fortune exhibiting your gifts in public, sir. ”

“ Slink, puffing at his work. "He has no pride in his handiwork. His shoes lack all soul, spirituously speaking."
"Pride," repeated Moore, with a grimace of discomfort. "That shoe will have to be pried before I can wear it. Oh! It is tight, Mr. Slink, cursedly tight, Mr. Slink. Were you yourself quite sober when you made it?"
"Yes, sir, I was. I always am sober, sir."
"Then it is the wind that tints your proboscis that strawberry pink, is it?" said Moore. "Suppose you have a gentle breeze with me. I 've a new lot of sherry just sent me by Admiral Nelson. You must try it, Mr. Slink. ”

“ Moore called this old aged man unto him, and said, 'Father, tell me, if you can, what is the cause of the great arising of the sands and shelves here about this haven, which stop it up so that no ships can arrive here. You are the oldest man I can espy in all the company, so that if any man can tell the cause of it, you of all likelihood can say most to it, or at leastwise more than any man here assembled.' 'Yea, forsooth, good Mr. Moore,' quoth this old man, 'for I am well-nigh an hundred years old, and no man here in this company anything near my age.' 'Well, then,' quoth Mr. ”

“ Moore?"
"On bad habits? It is a bad habit I have of speaking, you mean, Mistress Dyke?"
Bessie nodded and turned toward him, resting one chubby elbow upon the desk.
"How London has changed you," sighed Moore, regretfully, shaking his head as he spoke.
"And you?" said the girl in a critical tone. "Surely Mr. Thomas Moore, the friend of the Prince, is very different from an unknown Irish rhymer?"
"Rhymer?" repeated he. "I see you have been talking with Sir Percival."
"To be sure," said Bessie. "So pleasant and witty a gentleman is worthy of attention." ”

“ Be driven to excesses which once could appal—
That the Sinner should suffer is only fair dealing,
As the Saint keeps her charity back for 'the Ball,'" &c. &c.
LETTER 460. TO MR. MOORE.
"September—no—October 1. 1821.
"I have written to you lately, both in prose and verse, at great length, to Paris and London. I presume that Mrs. Moore, or whoever is your Paris deputy, will forward my packets to you in London.
"I am setting off for Pisa, if a slight incipient intermittent fever do not prevent me. I fear it is not strong enough to give Murray much chance of realising his thirteens again. ”

“ The swing doors were opened, and a man between thirty and forty came in. He was about the medium height; a dark olive skin, black curly hair, picturesque and disreputable, like a bird of prey in his blue Melton jacket and billycock hat.
"You'd better 'ave the coat," he said; "you won't better it;" and coming into the bar he planked down a penny as if it were a sovereign. "Glass of porter; nice warm weather, good for the 'arvest. Just come up from the country—a bit dusty, ain't I?"
"Ain't you the chap," said William, "what laid Mr. Ketley six 'alf-crowns to one against Cross Roads?" ”

“ Her eyes wandered along the smooth wide drive, down to the placid water crossed by the great ornamental bridge, the island where she had watched the swans floating last night—all these things were hers. So the words 'will' and 'facts' and 'ignorance of them' jarred her clutching little dream, and she turned her eyes—they wore an anxious look—towards Mr. Grandly, and said with an authoritative air: 'Yes, let us go into the drawing-room; I want to hear what Mr. Grandly has to say about——Let us go into the drawing-room at once.'
Julia took the chair nearest to her. ”

“ My rhyming propensity is quite gone, and I feel much as I did at Patras on recovering from my fever—weak, but in health, and only afraid of a relapse. I do most fervently hope I never shall.
"I see by the Morning Chronicle there hath been discussion in the Courier; and I read in the Morning Post a wrathful letter about Mr. Moore, in which some Protestant Reader has made a sad confusion about India and Ireland.
"You are to do as you please about the smaller poems; but I think removing them now from The Corsair looks like fear; and if so, you must allow me not to be pleased. ”

“ Kirby, Betty, or occasionally Madam Ruiz or Madam Giron. The game had come to be her greatest pleasure, she had therefore established and set going in her circle of friends the idea that it was an especial pleasure to Margaret also; Aunt Katrina was an adept in such tyrannies.
"How is Mr. Moore to-day?" Margaret inquired, not replying to the change of shoes.
"He improves every hour, it's wonderful! He is getting well in half the time that any one else would have taken. He will walk as lightly as ever before long—or almost as lightly. ”

“ TO MR. MOORE.
"Will you and Rogers come to my box at Covent, then? I shall be there, and none else—or I won't be there, if you twain would like to go without me. You will not get so good a place hustling among the publican boxers, with damnable apprentices (six feet high) on a back row. Will you both oblige me and come,—or one—or neither—or, what you will?
"P.S. An' you will, I will call for you at half-past six, or any time of your own dial."
TO MR. MOORE.
"I have gotten a box for Othello to-night, and send the ticket for your friends the R——fes. ”

“ What can I do for you to-day, sir?' There's but one sort of cove I can't abide."
"And he is—" said Journeyman.
"He is Mr. George Buff."
"Who's he? who's he?" asked several; and the vagrant caused some amusement by the question, "Do 'e bet on the course?"
"Yes, he do," said William, "an' nowhere else. He's at every meeting as reg'lar as if he was a bookie himself. I 'ates to see his face.... I'd be a rich man if I'd all the money that man 'as 'ad out of me in the last three years."
"What should you say was his system?" asked Mr. Stack. ”