“Dear object of defeated care,
      Though now of love and thee bereft,
    To reconcile me with despair,
      Thine image and my tears are left. 
    ’Tis said with sorrow Time can cope,
      But this, I feel, can ne’er be true;
    For, by the death-blow of my hope,
      My Memory immortal grew!”

We frequently, during the first months of our acquaintance, dined together alone; and as we had no club, in common, to resort to,—­the Alfred being the only one to which he, at that period, belonged, and I being then a member of none but Watier’s,—­our dinners used to be either at the St. Alban’s, or at his old haunt, Stevens’s.  Though at times he would drink freely enough of claret, he still adhered to his system of abstinence in food.  He appeared, indeed, to have conceived a notion that animal food has some peculiar influence on the character; and I remember, one day, as I sat opposite to him, employed, I suppose, rather earnestly over a beef-steak, after watching me for a few seconds, he said, in a grave tone of enquiry,—­“Moore, don’t you find eating beef-steak makes you ferocious?”

Understanding me to have expressed a wish to become a member of the Alfred, he very good-naturedly lost no time in proposing me as a candidate; but as the resolution which I had then nearly formed of betaking myself to a country life rendered an additional club in London superfluous, I wrote to beg that he would, for the present, at least, withdraw my name:  and his answer, though containing little, being the first familiar note he ever honoured me with, I may be excused for feeling a peculiar pleasure in inserting it.

[Footnote 39:  “Written beneath the picture of ——­“]

* * * * *

LETTER 82.  TO MR. MOORE.

     “December 11. 1811.

     “My dear Moore,

“If you please, we will drop our former monosyllables, and adhere to the appellations sanctioned by our godfathers and godmothers.  If you make it a point, I will withdraw your name; at the same time there is no occasion, as I have this day postponed your election ‘sine die,’ till it shall suit your wishes to be amongst us.  I do not say this from any awkwardness the erasure of your proposal would occasion to me, but simply such is the state of the case; and, indeed, the longer your name is up, the stronger will become the probability of success, and your voters more numerous.  Of course you will decide—­your wish shall be my law.  If my zeal has already outrun discretion, pardon me, and attribute my officiousness to an excusable motive.

“I wish you would go down with me to Newstead.  Hodgson will be there, and a young friend, named Harness, the earliest and dearest I ever had from the third form at Harrow to this hour.  I can promise you good wine, and, if you like shooting, a manor of 4000 acres,