Between the 19th and the 22d, his physical and moral indisposition
seemed to last; for he makes reflections in his memoranda, upon
melancholy bilious people, and says that he has not even sufficient
energy to go on with his tragedy of "Sardanapalus," and that he has
ceased composing for the last few days. Now, it was precisely the 20th
that he was more than ever annoyed by the obstinacy of the London
Theatre managers, for, despite his determination and his clear right,
his protestations and entreaties, they were resolved, said the
newspapers that came to hand, on having "Marino Faliero" acted. He had
already written to Murray:--

"I must really and seriously request that you will beg of Messrs. Harris
or Elliston to let the Doge alone: it is not an acting play; it will not
serve their purpose; it will destroy yours (the sale); and it will
distress me. It is not courteous, it is hardly even gentlemanly, to
persist in this appropriation of a man's writings to their
mountebanks."

He wrote thus, on the 19th; but on the 20th his fears had increased to
such a pitch that he also addressed the lord-chamberlain, requesting him
to forbid this representation. Indeed, so great was his annoyance, that
he wrote to Murray twice in the same day:--

"I wish you would speak to Lord Holland, and to all my friends and
yours, to interest themselves in preventing this cursed attempt at
representation.

"God help me! at this distance, I am treated like a corpse or a fool by
the few people that I thought I could rely upon; and I _was_ a fool to
think any better of them than of the rest of mankind."

On the 21st his melancholy does not appear to have worn off. This is to
be attributed to the additions to all the causes of the previous day;
and to the news of the illness of Moore, whom he loved so much, there
came, in addition, the following event, which we give in his own
words:--

"To-morrow is my birthday--that is to say, at twelve o' the clock,
midnight--_i.e._, in twelve minutes, I shall have completed thirty-three
years of age!!! and I go to my bed with a heaviness of heart at having
lived so long, and to so little purpose."

Let me be allowed here to make some comment on the beauty of the
sentiment causing this sadness; for certainly he was not actuated by a
common sensual, selfish regret at youth departing. Beauty, youth, love,
fortune, and celebrity, all smiled on him then; he possessed every one
of them to a degree capable