In the days of the regency, poets came in for patronage, and Mr. Moore, made registrar to the Court of Admiralty at Bermuda--as singularly appropriate an appointment as some we have seen in our own day--went out to the islands, appointed a deputy, took a glance at the United States, and came home again. He then published _Sketches of Travel and Society beyond the Atlantic_--a satiric work in heroic verse, vigorously written, but politically evincing a miserable short-sightedness. Soon afterwards, a savage review in the _Edinburgh_, of a republication of _Juvenile Songs, &c._, led to the celebrated rencontre between Moore and Jeffrey, at Hampstead, when the great critic, as Byron asserted, stood valiantly up: "When Little's leadless pistol met his eye And Bow-street myrmidons stood laughing by." The affair was ultimately arranged, mainly through the intervention of Mr. Rogers, and at his house Moore shortly afterwards made his first acquaintance with Byron and Campbell. The long and affectionate intimacy between Moore and the author of _Childe Harold_, we need here only allude to. Moore had about this time married. His wife was a Miss Dyke, a woman, of strong sense and character, as well as great beauty and amiability. Their children are all dead. A couple of political satires of no great merit--one setting forth a sober and earnest panegyric upon ignorance--were followed by the famous _Two-penny Post Bag_, a bundle of rollicking satire and humor. It made a great hit. Not so its author's next venture, a farce called the _Blue Stocking_, damned at the Lyceum. Moore's intimacy with Byron and Hunt was broken off by the outspoken tone of the _Liberal_, and especially by the _Vision of Judgment_. Moore thought his friends had gone too far. What would Carlton House say! For if, as Byron said, "Little Tommy dearly loved a lord," with how much more affection did he worship a prince of the blood royal? The _Melodies_ were his next, and perhaps most popular compositions. Charming as they are, and exquisitely finished as is their lyrical workmanship, we doubt whether they have the stamina and heart-rooted earnestness, which are requisite to make songs immortal. Only the strongest heart and the manliest brain produce offspring to suit all tastes and to last all time.