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 Deny 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 1 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 — u 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 



