By the Rev. W. H. Hitchcock. 251 
world lasts the Melodies will not be forgotten, expressing in subtle 
language the loves, and joys, and sorrows of humanity.” 
It was at this time that the house of Bowood was the central 
magnet of attraction for the wit and genius, not merely of Wilts, 
but of all England. Without the Lansdownes he complained that 
Wiltshire was a “ mare mortuum.” At Bowood he met nearly every 
man of eminence in the political, literary, and social world. Each 
received at Bowood a genial welcome, and shared in a refined and 
friendly intercourse. Of the then Lady Lansdowne Lord John 
Russell has left the following record :— Among the good influences 
which surrounded Moore, and led him to revere a woman unspotted 
from the world, I could not omit to allude to his intercourse with 
her who diffused an air of holiness and peace and purity over the 
house of Bowood which neither rich nor poor can ever forget.” We 
thankfully bear witness that the sacred memory yet lives among the 
aged poor of Derry Hill. 
But notwithstanding Moore’s buoyancy of spirit and elasticity of 
temperament (he likens himself to an irrepressible cork, under water 
at one moment, but on the surface the next), it must not be sup- 
posed that his life was unclouded. One still living, who knew him 
well in his home life, testifies that it would not be easy to name 
anyone whose life was more entirely made up of light and shadow 
than that of Tom Moore—especially his domestic life. He had 
many cares, and felt them deeply. Even the wolf of poverty often 
howled at his door, but, hardest of all, came in rapid succession the 
loss of his children. Barbara, his first-born, had died at 5 years of 
age, from the effects of a fall, and Olivia at the age of l year. But 
the loss of Anastasia at the age of 16 was to Bessy and himself a 
life-long sorrow. He had watched her growth in personal and in- 
tellectual beauty with all the intense love of his loving nature, and 
seemed to regard her presence almost as an angel’s visit— She is 
so pure—God keep her so!”” One bright May morning she said 
to him, as he came to her amid a wealth of spring flowers, “ Papa, 
you have never written anything for me.” “ Have I not, Darling,” 
he replied, “then I will.” And as he stood by her side he pencilled 
these childlike yet graceful lines, which have never been given to 
