Chapter 55

"April 7.

"The Greeks here of the Government have been boring me for more money.[1] As I have the brigade to maintain, and the campaign is apparently now to open, and as I have already spent 30,000 dollars in three months upon them in one way or another, and more especially as their public loan has succeeded, so that they ought not to draw from individuals at that rate, I have given them a refusal, and--as they would not take _that,--another_ refusal in terms of considerable sincerity.

[Footnote 1: In consequence of the mutinous proceedings of Cariascachi's people, most of the neighbouring chieftains hastened to the assistance of the Government, and had already with this view marched to Anatolico near 2000 men. But, however opportune the arrival of such a force, they were a cause of fresh embarrassment, as there was a total want of provisions for their daily maintenance. It was in this emergency that the Governor, Primates, and Chieftains had recourse, as here stated, to their usual source of supply.]

"They wish now to try in the Islands for a few thousand dollars on the ensuing Loan. If you can serve them, perhaps you will, (in the way of information, at any rate,) and I will see that you have fair play; but still I do not _advise_ you, except to act as you please. Almost every thing depends upon the arrival, and the speedy arrival, of a portion of the Loan to keep peace among themselves. If they can but have sense to do this, I think that they will be a match and better for any force that can be brought against them for the present. We are all doing as well as we can."

It will be perceived from these letters, that besides the great and general interests of the cause, which were in themselves sufficient to absorb all his thoughts, he was also met on every side, in the details of his duty, by every possible variety of obstruction and distraction that rapacity, turbulence, and treachery could throw in his way. Such vexations, too, as would have been trying to the most robust health, here fell upon a frame already marked out for death; nor can we help feeling, while we contemplate this last scene of his life, that, much as there is in it to admire, to wonder at, and glory in, there is also much that awakens sad and most distressful thoughts. In a situation more than any other calling for sympathy and care, we see him cast among strangers and mercenaries, without either nurse or friend;--the self-collectedness of woman being, as we shall find, wanting for the former office, and the youth and inexperience of Count Gamba unfitting him wholly for the other. The very firmness with which a position so lone and disheartening was sustained, serves, by interesting us more deeply in the man, to increase our sympathy, till we almost forget admiration in pity, and half regret that he should have been great at such a cost.

The only circumstances that had for some time occurred to give him pleasure were, as regarded public affairs, the news of the successful progress of the Loan, and, in his personal relations, some favourable intelligence which he had received, after a long interruption of communication, respecting his sister and daughter. The former, he learned, had been seriously indisposed at the very time of his own fit, but had now entirely recovered. While delighted at this news, he could not help, at the same time, remarking, with his usual tendency to such superstitious feelings, how strange and striking was the coincidence.

To those who have, from his childhood, traced him through these pages, it must be manifest, I think, that Lord Byron was not formed to be long-lived. Whether from any hereditary defect in his organisation,--as he himself, from the circumstance of both his parents having died young, concluded,--or from those violent means he so early took to counteract the natural tendency of his habit, and reduce himself to thinness, he was, almost every year, as we have seen, subject to attacks of indisposition, by more than one of which his life was seriously endangered. The capricious course which he at all times pursued respecting diet,--his long fastings, his expedients for the allayment of hunger, his occasional excesses in the most unwholesome food, and, during the latter part of his residence in Italy, his indulgence in the use of spirituous beverages,--all this could not be otherwise than hurtful and undermining to his health; while his constant recourse to medicine,--daily, as it appears, and in large quantities,--both evinced and, no doubt, increased the derangement of his digestion. When to all this we add the wasteful wear of spirits and strength from the slow corrosion of sensibility, the warfare of the passions, and the workings of a mind that allowed itself no sabbath, it is not to be wondered at that the vital principle in him should so soon have burnt out, or that, at the age of thirty-three, he should have had--as he himself drearily expresses it--"an old feel." To feed the flame, the all-absorbing flame, of his genius, the whole powers of his nature, physical as well as moral, were sacrificed;--to present that grand and costly conflagration to the world's eyes, in which,

"Glittering, like a palace set on fire, His glory, while it shone, but ruin'd him!"[1]

[Footnote 1: Beaumont and Fletcher.]

It was on the very day when, as I have mentioned, the intelligence of his sister's recovery reached him, that, having been for the last three or four days prevented from taking exercise by the rains, he resolved, though the weather still looked threatening, to venture out on horseback. Three miles from Missolonghi Count Gamba and himself were overtaken by a heavy shower, and returned to the town walls wet through and in a state of violent perspiration. It had been their usual practice to dismount at the walls and return to their house in a boat, but, on this day, Count Gamba, representing to Lord Byron how dangerous it would be, warm as he then was, to sit exposed so long to the rain in a boat, entreated of him to go back the whole way on horseback. To this however, Lord Byron would not consent; but said, laughingly, "I should make a pretty soldier indeed, if I were to care for such a trifle." They accordingly dismounted and got into the boat as usual.

About two hours after his return home he was seized with a shuddering, and complained of fever and rheumatic pains. "At eight that evening," says Count Gamba, "I entered his room. He was lying on a sofa restless and melancholy. He said to me, 'I suffer a great deal of pain. I do not care for death, but these agonies I cannot bear.'"

The following day he rose at his accustomed hour,--transacted business, and was even able to take his ride in the olive woods, accompanied, as usual, by his long train of Suliotes. He complained, however, of perpetual shudderings, and had no appetite. On his return home he remarked to Fletcher that his saddle, he thought, had not been perfectly dried since yesterday's wetting, and that he felt himself the worse for it. This was the last time he ever crossed the threshold alive. In the evening Mr. Finlay and Mr. Millingen called upon him. "He was at first (says the latter gentleman) gayer than usual; but on a sudden became pensive."

On the evening of the 11th his fever, which was pronounced to be rheumatic, increased; and on the 12th he kept his bed all day, complaining that he could not sleep, and taking no nourishment whatever. The two following days, though the fever had apparently diminished, he became still more weak, and suffered much from pains in the head.

It was not till the 14th that his physician, Dr. Bruno, finding the sudorifics which he had hitherto employed to be unavailing, began to urge upon his patient the necessity of being bled. Of this, however, Lord Byron would not hear. He had evidently but little reliance on his medical attendant; and from the specimens this young man has since given of his intellect to the world, it is, indeed, lamentable,--supposing skill to have been, at this moment, of any avail,--that a life so precious should have been intrusted to such ordinary hands. "It was on this day, I think," says Count Gamba, "that, as I was sitting near him, on his sofa, he said to me, 'I was afraid I was losing my memory, and, in order to try, I attempted to repeat some Latin verses with the English translation, which I have not endeavoured to recollect since I was at school. I remembered them all except the last word of one of the hexameters.'"

To the faithful Fletcher, the idea of his master's life being in danger seems to have occurred some days before it struck either Count Gamba or the physician. So little, according to his friend's narrative, had such a suspicion crossed Lord Byron's own mind, that he even expressed himself "rather glad of his fever, as it might cure him of his tendency to epilepsy." To Fletcher, however, it appears, he had professed, more than once, strong doubts as to the nature of his complaint being so slight as the physician seemed to suppose it, and on his servant renewing his entreaties that he would send for Dr. Thomas to Zante, made no further opposition; though still, out of consideration for those gentlemen, he referred him on the subject to Dr. Bruno and Mr. Millingen. Whatever might have been the advantage or satisfaction of this step, it was now rendered wholly impossible by the weather,--such a hurricane blowing into the port that not a ship could get out. The rain, too, descended in torrents, and between the floods on the land-side and the sirocco from the sea, Missolonghi was, for the moment, a pestilential prison.

It was at this juncture that Mr. Millingen was, for the first time, according to his own account, invited to attend Lord Byron in his medical capacity,--his visit on the 10th being so little, as he states, professional, that he did not even, on that occasion, feel his Lordship's pulse. The great object for which he was now called in, and rather, it would seem, by Fletcher than Dr. Bruno, was for the purpose of joining his representations and remonstrances to theirs, and prevailing upon the patient to suffer himself to be bled,--an operation now become absolutely necessary from the increase of the fever, and which Dr. Bruno had, for the last two days, urged in vain.

Holding gentleness to be, with a disposition like that of Byron, the most effectual means of success, Mr. Millingen tried, as he himself tells us, all that reasoning and persuasion could suggest towards attaining his object. But his efforts were fruitless:--Lord Byron, who had now become morbidly irritable, replied angrily, but still with all his accustomed acuteness and spirit, to the physician's observations. Of all his prejudices, he declared, the strongest was that against bleeding. His mother had obtained from him a promise never to consent to being bled; and whatever argument might be produced, his aversion, he said, was stronger than reason. "Besides, is it not," he asked, "asserted by Dr. Reid, in his Essays, that less slaughter is effected by the lance than the lancet:--that minute instrument of mighty mischief!" On Mr. Millingen observing that this remark related to the treatment of nervous, but not of inflammatory complaints, he rejoined, in an angry tone, "Who is nervous, if I am not? And do not those other words of his, too, apply to my case, where he says that drawing blood from a nervous patient is like loosening the chords of a musical instrument, whose tones already fail for want of sufficient tension? Even before this illness, you yourself know how weak and irritable I had become;--and bleeding, by increasing this state, will inevitably kill me. Do with me whatever else you like, but bleed me you shall not. I have had several inflammatory fevers in my life, and at an age when more robust and plethoric: yet I got through them without bleeding. This time, also, will I take my chance."[1]

[Footnote 1: It was during the same, or some similar conversation, that Dr. Bruno also reports him to have said, "If my hour is come, I shall die, whether I lose my blood or keep it."]

After much reasoning and repeated entreaties, Mr. Millingen at length succeeded in obtaining from him a promise, that should he feel his fever increase at night, he would allow Dr. Bruno to bleed him.

During this day he had transacted business and received several letters; particularly one that much pleased him from the Turkish Governor, to whom he had sent the rescued prisoners, and who, in this communication, thanked him for his humane interference, and requested a repetition of it.

In the evening he conversed a good deal with Parry, who remained some hours by his bedside. "He sat up in his bed (says this officer), and was then calm and collected. He talked with me on a variety of subjects connected with himself and his family; he spoke of his intentions as to Greece, his plans for the campaign, and what he should ultimately do for that country. He spoke to me about my own adventures. He spoke of death also with great composure; and though he did not believe his end was so very near, there was something about him so serious and so firm, so resigned and composed, so different from any thing I had ever before seen in him, that my mind misgave me, and at times foreboded his speedy dissolution."

On revisiting his patient early next morning, Mr. Millingen learned from him, that having passed, as he thought, on the whole, a better night, he had not considered it necessary to ask Dr. Bruno to bleed him. What followed, I shall, in justice to Mr. Millingen, give in his own words.[1] "I thought it my duty now to put aside all consideration of his feelings, and to declare solemnly to him, how deeply I lamented to see him trifle thus with his life, and show so little resolution. His pertinacious refusal had already, I said, caused most precious time to be lost;--but few hours of hope now remained, and, unless he submitted immediately to be bled, we could not answer for the consequences. It was true, he cared not for life; but who could assure him that, unless he changed his resolution, the uncontrolled disease might not operate such disorganisation in his system as utterly and for ever to deprive him of reason?--I had now hit at last on the sensible chord; and, partly annoyed by our importunities, partly persuaded, he cast at us both the fiercest glance of vexation, and throwing out his arm, said, in the angriest tone, 'There,--you are, I see, a d--d set of butchers,--take away as much blood as you like, but have done with it.'

[Footnote 1: MS.--This gentleman is, I understand, about to publish the Narrative from which the above extract is taken.]

"We seized the moment (adds Mr. Millingen), and drew about twenty ounces. On coagulating, the blood presented a strong buffy coat; yet the relief obtained did not correspond to the hopes we had formed, and during the night the fever became stronger than it had been hitherto. The restlessness and agitation increased, and the patient spoke several times in an incoherent manner."

On the following morning, the 17th, the bleeding was repeated; for, although the rheumatic symptoms had been completely removed, the appearances of inflammation on the brain were now hourly increasing. Count Gamba, who had not for the last two days seen him, being confined to his own apartment by a sprained ankle, now contrived to reach his room. "His countenance," says this gentleman, "at once awakened in me the most dreadful suspicions. He was very calm; he talked to me in the kindest manner about my accident, but in a hollow, sepulchral tone. 'Take care of your foot,' said he; 'I know by experience how painful it must be.' I could not stay near his bed: a flood of tears rushed into my eyes, and I was obliged to withdraw." Neither Count Gamba, indeed, nor Fletcher, appear to have been sufficiently masters of themselves to do much else than weep during the remainder of this afflicting scene.

In addition to the bleeding, which was repeated twice on the 17th, it was thought right also to apply blisters to the soles of his feet. "When on the point of putting them on," says Mr. Millingen, "Lord Byron asked me whether it would answer the purpose to apply both on the same leg. Guessing immediately the motive that led him to ask this question, I told him that I would place them above the knees. 'Do so,' he replied."

It is painful to dwell on such details,--but we are now approaching the close. In addition to most of those sad varieties of wretchedness which surround alike the grandest and humblest deathbeds, there was also in the scene now passing around the dying Byron such a degree of confusion and uncomfort as renders it doubly dreary to contemplate. There having been no person invested, since his illness, with authority over the household, neither order nor quiet was maintained in his apartment. Most of the comforts necessary in such an illness were wanting; and those around him, either unprepared for the danger, were, like Bruno, when it came, bewildered by it; or, like the kind-hearted Fletcher and Count Gamba, were by their feelings rendered no less helpless.

"In all the attendants," says Parry, "there was the officiousness of zeal; but, owing to their ignorance of each other's language, their zeal only added to the confusion. This circumstance, and the want of common necessaries, made Lord Byron's apartment such a picture of distress and even anguish during the two or three last days of his life, as I never before beheld, and wish never again to witness."

The 18th being Easter day,--a holiday which the Greeks celebrate by firing off muskets and artillery,--it was apprehended that this noise might be injurious to Lord Byron; and, as a means of attracting away the crowd from the neighbourhood, the artillery brigade were marched out by Parry, to exercise their guns at some distance from the town; while, at the same time, the town-guard patrolled the streets, and informing the people of the danger of their benefactor, entreated them to preserve all possible quiet.

About three o'clock in the afternoon, Lord Byron rose and went into the adjoining room. He was able to walk across the chamber, leaning on his servant Tita; and, when seated, asked for a book, which the servant brought him. After reading, however, for a few minutes, he found himself faint; and, again taking Tita's arm, tottered into the next room, and returned to bed.

At this time the physicians, becoming still more alarmed, expressed a wish for a consultation; and proposed calling in, without delay, Dr. Freiber, the medical assistant of Mr. Millingen, and Luca Vaya, a Greek, the physician of Mavrocordato. On hea[r]ing this, Lord Byron at first refused to see them; but being informed that Mavrocordato advised it, he said,--"Very well, let them come; but let them look at me and say nothing." This they promised, and were admitted; but when one of them, on feeling his pulse, showed a wish to speak--"Recollect," he said, "your promise, and go away."

It was after this consultation of the physicians[1], that, as it appeared to Count Gamba, Lord Byron was, for the first time, aware of his approaching end. Mr. Millingen, Fletcher, and Tita had been standing round his bed; but the two first, unable to restrain their tears, left the room. Tita also wept; but, as Byron held his hand, could not retire. He, however, turned away his face; while Byron, looking at him steadily, said, half smiling, "Oh questa è una bella scena!" He then seemed to reflect a moment, and exclaimed, "Call Parry." Almost immediately afterwards, a fit of delirium ensued; and he began to talk wildly, as if he were mounting a breach in an assault,--calling out, half in English, half in Italian, "Forwards--forwards--courage--follow my example," &c. &c.

[Footnote 1: For Mr. Millingen's account of this consultation, see Appendix.]

On coming again to himself, he asked Fletcher, who had then returned into the room, "whether he had sent for Dr. Thomas, as he desired?" and the servant answering in the affirmative, he replied, "You have done right, for I should like to know what is the matter with me." He had, a short time before, with that kind consideration for those about him which was one of the great sources of their lasting attachment to him, said to Fletcher, "I am afraid you and Tita will be ill with sitting up night and day." It was now evident that he knew he was dying; and between his anxiety to make his servant understand his last wishes, and the rapid failure of his powers of utterance, a most painful scene ensued. On Fletcher asking whether he should bring pen and paper to take down his words--"Oh no," he replied--"there is no time--it is now nearly over. Go to my sister--tell her--go to Lady Byron--you will see her, and say ----" Here his voice faltered, and became gradually indistinct; notwithstanding which he continued still to mutter to himself, for nearly twenty minutes, with much earnestness of manner, but in such a tone that only a few words could be distinguished. These, too, were only names,--"Augusta,"--"Ada,"--"Hobhouse,"--"Kinnaird." He then said, "Now, I have told you all." "My Lord," replied Fletcher, "I have not understood a word your Lordship has been saying."--"Not understand me?" exclaimed Lord Byron, with a look of the utmost distress, "what a pity!--then it is too late; all is over."--"I hope not," answered Fletcher; "but the Lord's will be done!"--"Yes, not mine," said Byron. He then tried to utter a few words, of which none were intelligible, except "my sister--my child."

The decision adopted at the consultation had been, contrary to the opinion of Mr. Millingen and Dr. Freiber, to administer to the patient a strong antispasmodic potion, which, while it produced sleep, but hastened perhaps death. In order to persuade him into taking this draught, Mr. Parry was sent for[1], and, without any difficulty, induced him to swallow a few mouthfuls. "When he took my hand," says Parry, "I found his hands were deadly cold. With the assistance of Tita I endeavoured gently to create a little warmth in them; and also loosened the bandage which was tied round his head. Till this was done he seemed in great pain, clenched his hands at times, gnashed his teeth, and uttered the Italian exclamation of 'Ah Christi!' He bore the loosening of the band passively, and, after it was loosened, shed tears; then taking my hand again, uttered a faint good night, and sunk into a slumber."

[Footnote 1: From this circumstance, as well as from the terms in which he is mentioned by Lord Byron, it is plain that this person had, by his blunt, practical good sense, acquired far more influence over his Lordship's mind than was possessed by any of the other persons about him.]

In about half an hour he again awoke, when a second dose of the strong infusion was administered to him. "From those about him," says Count Gamba, who was not able to bear this scene himself, "I collected that, either at this time, or in his former interval of reason, he could be understood to say--'Poor Greece!--poor town!--my poor servants!' Also, 'Why was I not aware of this sooner?' and 'My hour is come!--I do not care for death--but why did I not go home before I came here?' At another time he said, 'There are things which make the world dear to me _Io lascio qualche cosa di caro nel mondo_: for the rest, I am content to die.' He spoke also of Greece, saying, 'I have given her my time, my means, my health--and now I give her my life!--what could I do more?'"[1]

[Footnote 1: It is but right to remind the reader, that for the sayings here attributed to Lord Byron, however natural and probable they may appear, there is not exactly the same authority of credible witnesses by which all the other details I have given of his last hours are supported.]

It was about six o'clock on the evening of this day when he said, "Now I shall go to sleep;" and then turning round fell into that slumber from which he never awoke. For the next twenty-four hours he lay incapable of either sense or motion,--with the exception of, now and then, slight symptoms of suffocation, during which his servant raised his head,--and at a quarter past six o'clock on the following day, the 19th, he was seen to open his eyes and immediately shut them again. The physicians felt his pulse--he was no more!

To attempt to describe how the intelligence of this sad event struck upon all hearts would be as difficult as it is superfluous. He, whom the whole world was to mourn, had on the tears of Greece peculiar claim,--for it was at her feet he now laid down the harvest of such a life of fame. To the people of Missolonghi, who first felt the shock that was soon to spread through all Europe, the event seemed almost incredible. It was but the other day that he had come among them, radiant with renown,--inspiring faith, by his very name, in those miracles of success that were about to spring forth at the touch of his ever-powerful genius. All this had now vanished like a short dream:--nor can we wonder that the poor Greeks, to whom his coming had been such a glory, and who, on the last evening of his life, thronged the streets, enquiring as to his state, should regard the thunder-storm which, at the moment he died, broke over the town, as a signal of his doom, and, in their superstitious grief, cry to each other, "The great man is gone!"[1]

[Footnote 1: Parry's "Last Days of Lord Byron," p. 128.]

Prince Mavrocordato, who of all best knew and felt the extent of his country's loss, and who had to mourn doubly the friend of Greece and of himself, on the evening of the 19th issued this melancholy proclamation:--

"PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF WESTERN GREECE.

"ART. 1185.

"The present day of festivity and rejoicing has become one of sorrow and of mourning. The Lord Noel Byron departed this life at six o'clock in the afternoon, after an illness of ten days; his death being caused by an inflammatory fever. Such was the effect of his Lordship's illness on the public mind, that all classes had forgotten their usual recreations of Easter, even before the afflicting event was apprehended.

"The loss of this illustrious individual is undoubtedly to be deplored by all Greece; but it must be more especially a subject of lamentation at Missolonghi, where his generosity has been so conspicuously displayed, and of which he had even become a citizen, with the further determination of participating in all the dangers of the war.

"Every body is acquainted with the beneficent acts of his Lordship, and none can cease to hail his name as that of a real benefactor.

"Until, therefore, the final determination of the National Government be known, and by virtue of the powers with which it has been pleased to invest me, I hereby decree,--

"1st, To-morrow morning, at daylight, thirty seven minute guns will be fired from the Grand Battery, being the number which corresponds with the age of the illustrious deceased.

"2d, All the public offices, even the tribunals, are to remain closed for three successive days.

"3d, All the shops, except those in which provisions or medicines are sold, will also be shut; and it is strictly enjoined that every species of public amusement, and other demonstrations of festivity at Easter, shall be suspended.

"4th, A general mourning will be observed for twenty-one days.

"5th, Prayers and a funeral service are to be offered up in all the churches.

(Signed) "A. MAVROCORDATO. "GEORGE PRAIDIS, Secretary.

"Given at Missolonghi, this 19th day of April, 1824."

Similar honours were paid to his memory at many other places through Greece. At Salona, where the Congress had assembled, his soul was prayed for in the Church; after which the whole garrison and the citizens went out into the plain, where another religious ceremony took place, under the shade of the olive trees. This being concluded, the troops fired; and an oration, full of the warmest praise and gratitude, was pronounced by the High Priest.

When such was the veneration shown towards him by strangers, what must have been the feelings of his near associates and attendants? Let one speak for all:--"He died (says Count Gamba) in a strange land, and amongst strangers; but more loved, more sincerely wept he never could have been, wherever he had breathed his last. Such was the attachment, mingled with a sort of reverence and enthusiasm, with which he inspired those around him, that there was not one of us who would not, for his sake, have willingly encountered any danger in the world."

Colonel Stanhope, whom the sad intelligence reached at Salona, thus writes to the Committee:--"A courier has just arrived from the Chief Scalza. Alas! all our fears are realised. The soul of Byron has taken its last flight. England has lost her brightest genius, Greece her noblest friend. To console them for the loss, he has left behind the emanations of his splendid mind. If Byron had faults, he had redeeming virtues too--he sacrificed his comfort, fortune, health, and life, to the cause of an oppressed nation. Honoured be his memory!"

Mr. Trelawney, who was on his way to Missolonghi at the time, describes as follows the manner in which he first heard of his friend's death:--"With all my anxiety I could not get here before the third day. It was the second, after having crossed the first great torrent, that I met some soldiers from Missolonghi. I had let them all pass me, ere I had resolution enough to enquire the news from Missolonghi. I then rode back, and demanded of a straggler the news. I heard nothing more than--Lord Byron is dead,--and I proceeded on in gloomy silence." The writer adds, after detailing the particulars of the poet's illness and death, "Your pardon, Stanhope, that I have thus turned aside from the great cause in which I am embarked. But this is no private grief. The world has lost its greatest man; I my best friend."

Among his servants the same feeling of sincere grief prevailed:--"I have in my possession (says Mr. Hoppner, in the Notices with which he has favoured me,) a letter written by his gondolier Tita, who had accompanied him from Venice, giving an account to his parents of his master's decease. Of this event the poor fellow speaks in the most affecting manner, telling them that in Lord Byron he had lost a father rather than a master; and expatiating upon the indulgence with which he had always treated his domestics, and the care he expressed for their comfort and welfare."

His valet Fletcher, too, in a letter to Mr. Murray, announcing the event, says, "Please to excuse all defects, for I scarcely know what I either say or do; for, after twenty years' service with my Lord, he was more to me than a father, and I am too much distressed to give now a correct account of every particular."

In speaking of the effect produced on the friends of Greece by this event, Mr. Trelawney says,--"I think Byron's name was the great means of getting the Loan. A Mr. Marshall, with 8000_l_. per annum, was as far as Corfu, and turned back on hearing of Lord Byron's death. Thousands of people were flocking here: some had arrived as far as Corfu, and hearing of his death, confessed they came out to devote their fortunes not to the Greeks, or from interest in the cause, but to the noble poet; and the 'Pilgrim of Eternity[1]' having departed, they turned back."[2]

[Footnote 1: The title given by Shelley to Lord Byron in his Elegy on the death of Keats.

"The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like Heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow."]

[Footnote 2: Parry, too, mentions an instance to the same effect:--"While I was on the quarantine-house at Zante, a gentleman called on me, and made numerous enquiries as to Lord Byron. He said he was only one of fourteen English gentlemen, then at Ancona, who had sent him on to obtain intelligence, and only waited his return to come and join Lord Byron. They were to form a mounted guard for him, and meant to devote their personal services and their incomes to the Greek cause. On hearing of Lord Byron's death, however, they turned back."]

The funeral ceremony, which, on account of the rains, had been postponed for a day, took place in the church of St. Nicholas, at Missolonghi, on the 22d of April, and is thus feelingly described by an eye-witness:--

"In the midst of his own brigade, of the troops of the Government, and of the whole population, on the shoulders of the officers of his corps, relieved occasionally by other Greeks, the most precious portion of his honoured remains were carried to the church, where lie the bodies of Marco Bozzari and of General Normann. There we laid them down: the coffin was a rude, ill-constructed chest of wood; a black mantle served for a pall; and over it we placed a helmet and a sword, and a crown of laurel. But no funeral pomp could have left the impression, nor spoken the feelings, of this simple ceremony. The wretchedness and desolation of the place itself; the wild and half-civilised warriors around us; their deep-felt, unaffected grief; the fond recollections; the disappointed hopes; the anxieties and sad presentiments which might be read on every countenance;--all contributed to form a scene more moving, more truly affecting, than perhaps was ever before witnessed round the grave of a great man.

"When the funeral service was over, we left the bier in the middle of the church, where it remained until the evening of the next day, and was guarded by a detachment of his own brigade. The church was crowded without cessation by those who came to honour and to regret the benefactor of Greece. In the evening of the 23d, the bier was privately carried back by his officers to his own house. The coffin was not closed till the 29th of the month. Immediately after his death, his countenance had an air of calmness, mingled with a severity, that seemed gradually to soften; for when I took a last look of him, the expression, at least to my eyes, was truly sublime."

We have seen how decidedly, while in Italy, Lord Byron expressed his repugnance to the idea of his remains resting upon English ground; and the injunctions he so frequently gave to Mr. Hoppner on this point show his wishes to have been,--at least, during that period,--sincere. With one so changing, however, in his impulses, it was not too much to take for granted that the far more cordial feeling entertained by him towards his countrymen at Cephalonia would have been followed by a correspondent change in this antipathy to England as a last resting-place. It is, at all events, fortunate that by no such spleen of the moment has his native country been deprived of her natural right to enshrine within her own bosom one of the noblest of her dead, and to atone for any wrong she may have inflicted upon him, while living, by making his tomb a place of pilgrimage for her sons through all ages.

By Colonel Stanhope and others it was suggested that, as a tribute to the land he celebrated and died for, his remains should be deposited at Athens, in the Temple of Theseus; and the Chief Odysseus despatched an express to Missolonghi to enforce this wish. On the part of the town, too, in which he breathed his last, a similar request had been made by the citizens; and it was thought advisable so far to accede to their desires as to leave with them, for interment, one of the vessels, in which his remains, after embalmment, were enclosed.

The first step taken, before any decision as to its ultimate disposal, was to have the body conveyed to Zante; and every facility having been afforded by the Resident, Sir Frederick Stoven, in providing and sending transports to Missolonghi for that purpose, on the morning of the 2d of May the remains were embarked, under a mournful salute from the guns of the fortress:--"How different," says Count Gamba, "from that which had welcomed the arrival of Byron only four months ago!"

At Zante, the determination was taken to send the body to England; and the brig Florida, which had just arrived there with the first instalment of the Loan, was engaged for the purpose. Mr. Blaquiere, under whose care this first portion of the Loan had come, was also the bearer of a Commission for the due management of its disposal in Greece, in which Lord Byron was named as the principal Commissioner. The same ship, however, that brought this honourable mark of confidence was to return with him a corpse. To Colonel Stanhope, who was then at Zante, on his way homeward, was intrusted the charge of his illustrious colleague's remains; and on the 25th of May he embarked with them on board the Florida for England.

In the letter which, on his arrival in the Downs, June 29th, this gentleman addressed to Lord Byron's executors, there is the following passage:--"With respect to the funeral ceremony, I am of opinion that his Lordship's family should be immediately consulted, and that sanction should be obtained for the public burial of his body either in the great Abbey or Cathedral of London." It has been asserted, and I fear too truly, that on some intimation of the wish suggested in this last sentence being conveyed to one of those Reverend persons who have the honours of the Abbey at their disposal, such an answer was returned as left but little doubt that a refusal would be the result of any more regular application.[1]

[Footnote 1: A former Dean of Westminster went so far, we know, in his scruples as to exclude an epitaph from the Abbey, because it contained the name of Milton:--"a name, in his opinion," says Johnson, "too detestable to be read on the wall of a building dedicated to devotion."--_Life of_ MILTON.]

There is an anecdote told of the poet Hafiz, in Sir William Jones's Life, which, in reporting this instance of illiberality, recurs naturally to the memory. After the death of the great Persian bard, some of the religious among his countrymen protested strongly against allowing to him the right of sepulture, alleging, as their objection, the licentiousness of his poetry. After much controversy, it was agreed to leave the decision of the question to a mode of divination, not uncommon among the Persians, which consisted in opening the poet's book at random and taking the first verses that occurred. They happened to be these:--

"Oh turn not coldly from the poet's bier, Nor check the sacred drops by Pity given; For though in sin his body slumbereth here, His soul, absolved, already wings to heaven."

These lines, says the legend, were looked upon as a divine decree; the religionists no longer enforced their objections, and the remains of the bard were left to take their quiet sleep by that "sweet bower of Mosellay" which he had so often celebrated in his verses.

Were our Byron's right of sepulture to be decided in the same manner, how few are there of his pages, thus taken at hazard, that would not, by some genial touch of sympathy with virtue, some glowing tribute to the bright works of God, or some gush of natural devotion more affecting than any homily, give him a title to admission into the purest temple of which Christian Charity ever held the guardianship.

Let the decision, however, of these Reverend authorities have been, finally, what it might, it was the wish, as is understood, of Lord Byron's dearest relative to have his remains laid in the family vault at Hucknall, near Newstead. On being landed from the Florida, the body had, under the direction of his Lordship's executors, Mr. Hobhouse and Mr. Hanson, been removed to the house of Sir Edward Knatchbull in Great George Street, Westminster, where it lay in state during Friday and Saturday, the 9th and 10th of July, and on the following Monday the funeral procession took place. Leaving Westminster at eleven o'clock in the morning, attended by most of his Lordship's personal friends and by the carriages of several persons of rank, it proceeded through various streets of the metropolis towards the North Road. At Pancras Church, the ceremonial of the procession being at an end, the carriages returned; and the hearse continued its way, by slow stages, to Nottingham.

It was on Friday the 16th of July that, in the small village church of Hucknall, the last duties were paid to the remains of Byron, by depositing them, close to those of his mother, in the family vault. Exactly on the same day of the same month in the preceding year, he had said, it will be recollected, despondingly, to Count Gamba, "Where shall we be in another year?" The gentleman to whom this foreboding speech was addressed paid a visit, some months after the interment, to Hucknall, and was much struck, as I have heard, on approaching the village, by the strong likeness it seemed to him to bear to his lost friend's melancholy deathplace, Missolonghi.

On a tablet of white marble in the chancel of the Church of Hucknall is the following inscription:--

IN THE VAULT BENEATH, WHERE MANY OF HIS ANCESTORS AND HIS MOTHER ARE BURIED, LIE THE REMAINS OF GEORGE GORDON NOEL BYRON, LORD BYRON, OF ROCHDALE, IN THE COUNTY OF LANCASTER, THE AUTHOR OF "CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE." HE WAS BORN IN LONDON ON THE 22D OF JANUARY, 1788.

HE DIED AT MISSOLONGHI, IN WESTERN GREECE, ON THE 19TH OF APRIL, 1824, ENGAGED IN THE GLORIOUS ATTEMPT TO RESTORE THAT COUNTRY TO HER ANCIENT FREEDOM AND RENOWN.

* * * * *

HIS SISTER, THE HONOURABLE AUGUSTA MARIA LEIGH, PLACED THIS TABLET TO HIS MEMORY.

From among the tributes that have been offered, in prose and verse, and in almost every language of Europe, to his memory, I shall select two which appear to me worthy of peculiar notice, as being, one of them,--so far as my limited scholarship will allow me to judge,--a simple and happy imitation of those laudatory inscriptions with which the Greece of other times honoured the tombs of her heroes; and the other as being the production of a pen, once engaged controversially against Byron, but not the less ready, as these affecting verses prove, to offer the homage of a manly sorrow and admiration at his grave.

[Greek:

Eis Ton en tê Helladi têleutêsanta Poiêtên

* * * * *

Ou to zên tanaon biou euklees oud' enarithmein Arxaiax progonôn eunxneôn aretas Ton d' eudaimonias moir' amphepei, hosper apantôn Aien aristeuôn gignetai athanatos.-- Eudeis oun su, teknon, xaritôn ear? ouk eti thallei Akmaios meleôn hêdupnoôn stephanos?-- Alla teon, tripophête, moron penphousin Aphênê, Mousai, patris, Arês, Ellas, eleupheria.[1]]

[Footnote 1: By John Williams, Esq.--The following translation of this inscription will not be unacceptable to my readers:--

"Not length of life--not an illustrious birth, Rich with the noblest blood of all the earth;-- Nought can avail, save deeds of high emprize, Our mortal being to immortalise.

"Sweet child of song, thou deepest!--ne'er again Shall swell the notes of thy melodious strain: Yet, with thy country wailing o'er thy urn, Pallas, the Muse, Mars, Greece, and Freedom mourn."

H.H. JOY.]

"CHILDE HAROLD'S LAST PILGRIMAGE.

"BY THE REV. W.L. BOWLES.

"SO ENDS CHILDE HAROLD HIS LAST PILGRIMAGE!-- Upon the shores of Greece he stood, and cried 'LIBERTY!' and those shores, from age to age Renown'd, and Sparta's woods and rocks replied 'Liberty!' But a Spectre, at his side, Stood mocking;--and its dart, uplifting high, Smote him;--he sank to earth in life's fair pride: SPARTA! thy rocks then heard another cry, And old Ilissus sigh'd--'Die, generous exile, die!'

"I will not ask sad Pity to deplore His wayward errors, who thus early died; Still less, CHILDE HAROLD, now thou art no more, Will I say aught of genius misapplied; Of the past shadows of thy spleen or pride:-- But I will bid th' Arcadian cypress wave, Pluck the green laurel from Peneus' side, And pray thy spirit may such quiet have, That not one thought unkind be murmur'd o'er thy grave.

"SO HAROLD ENDS, IN GREECE, HIS PILGRIMAGE!-- There fitly ending,--in that land renown'd, Whose mighty genius lives in Glory's page,-- He, on the Muses' consecrated ground, Sinking to rest, while his young brows are bound With their unfading wreath!--To bands of mirth, No more in TEMPE let the pipe resound! HAROLD, I follow to thy place of birth The slow hearse--and thy LAST sad PILGRIMAGE on earth.

"Slow moves the plumed hearse, the mourning train,-- I mark the sad procession with a sigh, Silently passing to that village fane, Where, HAROLD, thy forefathers mouldering lie;-- There sleeps THAT MOTHER, who with tearful eye, Pondering the fortunes of thy early road, Hung o'er the slumbers of thine infancy; Her son, released from mortal labour's load, Now comes to rest, with her, in the same still abode.

"Bursting Death's silence--could that mother speak-- (Speak when the earth was heap'd upon his head)-- In thrilling, but with hollow accent weak, She thus might give the welcome of the dead:-- 'Here rest, my son, with me;--the dream is fled;-- The motley mask and the great stir is o'er: Welcome to me, and to this silent bed, Where deep forgetfulness succeeds the roar Of life, and fretting passions waste the heart no more.'"

By his Lordship's Will, a copy of which will be found in the Appendix, he bequeathed to his executors in trust for the benefit of his sister, Mrs. Leigh, the monies arising from the sale of all his real estates at Rochdale and elsewhere, together with such part of his other property as was not settled upon Lady Byron and his daughter Ada, to be by Mrs. Leigh enjoyed, free from her husband's control, during her life, and, after her decease, to be inherited by her children.

We have now followed to its close a life which, brief as was its span, may be said, perhaps, to have comprised within itself a greater variety of those excitements and interest which spring out of the deep workings of passion and of intellect than any that the pen of biography has ever before commemorated. As there still remain among the papers of my friend some curious gleanings which, though in the abundance of our materials I have not hitherto found a place for them, are too valuable towards the illustration of his character to be lost, I shall here, in selecting them for the reader, avail myself of the opportunity of trespassing, for the last time, on his patience with a few general remarks.

It must have been observed, throughout these pages, and by some, perhaps, with disappointment, that into the character of Lord Byron, as a poet, there has been little, if any, critical examination; but that, content with expressing generally the delight which, in common with all, I derive from his poetry, I have left the task of analysing the sources from which this delight springs to others.[1] In thus evading, if it must be so considered, one of my duties as a biographer, I have been influenced no less by a sense of my own inaptitude for the office of critic than by recollecting with what assiduity, throughout the whole of the poet's career, every new rising of his genius was watched from the great observatories of Criticism, and the ever changing varieties of its course and splendour tracked out and recorded with a degree of skill and minuteness which has left but little for succeeding observers to discover. It is, moreover, into the character and conduct of Lord Byron, as a man, not distinct from, but forming, on the contrary, the best illustration of his character, as a writer, that it has been the more immediate purpose of these volumes to enquire; and if, in the course of them, any satisfactory clue has been afforded to those anomalies, moral and intellectual, which his life exhibited,--still more, should it have been the effect of my humble labours to clear away some of those mists that hung round my friend, and show him, in most respects, as worthy of love as he was, in all, of admiration, then will the chief and sole aim of this work have been accomplished.

[Footnote 1: It may be making too light of criticism to say with Gray that "even a bad verse is as good a thing or better than the best observation that ever was made upon it;" but there are surely few tasks that appear more thankless and superfluous than that of following, as Criticism sometimes does, in the rear of victorious genius (like the commentators on a field of Blenheim or of Waterloo), and either labouring to point out to us _why_ it has triumphed, or still more unprofitably contending that it _ought_ to have failed. The well-known passage of La Bruyère, which even Voltaire's adulatory application of it to some work of the King of Prussia has not spoiled for use, puts, perhaps, in its true point of view the very subordinate rank which Criticism must be content to occupy in the train of successful Genius:--"Quand une lecture vous élève l'esprit et qu'elle vous inspire des sentimens nobles, ne cherehez pas une autre règle pour juger de l'ouvrage; il est bon et fait de main de l'ouvrier: La Critique, après ça, peut s'exercer sur les petites choses, relever quelques expressions, corriger des phrases, parler de syntaxe," &c. &c.]

Having devoted to this object so large a portion of my own share of these pages, and, yet more fairly, enabled the world to form a judgment for itself, by placing the man, in his own person, and without disguise, before all eyes, there would seem to remain now but an easy duty in summing up the various points of his character, and, out of the features, already separately described, combining one complete portrait. The task, however, is by no means so easy as it may appear. There are few characters in which a near acquaintance does not enable us to discover some one leading principle or passion consistent enough in its operations to be taken confidently into account in any estimate of the disposition in which they are found. Like those points in the human face, or figure, to which all its other proportions are referable, there is in most minds some one governing influence, from which chiefly,--though, of course, biassed on some occasions by others,--all its various impulses and tendencies will be found to radiate. In Lord Byron, however, this sort of pivot of character was almost wholly wanting. Governed as he was at different moments by totally different passions, and impelled sometimes, as during his short access of parsimony in Italy, by springs of action never before developed in his nature, in him this simple mode of tracing character to its sources must be often wholly at fault; and if, as is not impossible, in trying to solve the strange variances of his mind, I should myself be found to have fallen into contradictions and inconsistencies, the extreme difficulty of analysing, without dazzle or bewilderment, such an unexampled complication of qualities must be admitted as my excuse.

So various, indeed, and contradictory, were his attributes, both moral and intellectual, that he may be pronounced to have been not one, but many: nor would it be any great exaggeration of the truth to say, that out of the mere partition of the properties of his single mind a plurality of characters, all different and all vigorous, might have been furnished. It was this multiform aspect exhibited by him that led the world, during his short wondrous career, to compare him with that medley host of personages, almost all differing from each other, which he thus playfully enumerates in one of his Journals:--

"I have been thinking over, the other day, on the various comparisons, good or evil, which I have seen published of myself in different journals, English and foreign. This was suggested to me by accidentally turning over a foreign one lately,--for I have made it a rule latterly never to _search_ for any thing of the kind, but not to avoid the perusal, if presented by chance.

"To begin, then: I have seen myself compared, personally or poetically, in English, French, _German_ (_as_ interpreted to me), Italian, and Portuguese, within these nine years, to Rousseau, Goethe, Young, Aretine, Timon of Athens, Dante, Petrarch, 'an alabaster vase, lighted up within,' Satan, Shakspeare, Buonaparte, Tiberius, Æschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Harlequin, the Clown, Sternhold and Hopkins, to the phantasmagoria, to Henry the Eighth, to Chenier, to Mirabeau, to young R. Dallas (the schoolboy), to Michael Angelo, to Raphael, to a petit-maître, to Diogenes, to Childe Harold, to Lara, to the Count in Beppo, to Milton, to Pope, to Dryden, to Burns, to Savage, to Chatterton, to 'oft have I heard of thee, my Lord Biron,' in Shakspeare, to Churchill the poet, to Kean the actor, to Alfieri, &c. &c. &c.

"The likeness to Alfieri was asserted very seriously by an Italian who had known him in his younger days. It of course related merely to our apparent personal dispositions. He did not assert it to _me_ (for we were not then good friends), but in society.

"The object of so many contradictory comparisons must probably be like something different from them all; but what _that_ is, is more than _I_ know, or any body else."

It would not be uninteresting, were there either space or time for such a task, to take a review of the names of note in the preceding list, and show in how many points, though differing so materially among themselves, it might be found that each presented a striking resemblance to Lord Byron. We have seen, for instance, that wrongs and sufferings were, through life, the main sources of Byron's inspiration. Where the hoof of the critic struck, the fountain was first disclosed; and all the tramplings of the world afterwards but forced out the stream stronger and brighter. The same obligations to misfortune, the same debt to the "oppressor's wrong," for having wrung out from bitter thoughts the pure essence of his genius, was due no less deeply by Dante!--"quum illam sub amarâ cogitatione excitatam, occulti divinique ingenii vim exacuerit et inflammarit."[1]

[Footnote 1: Paulus Jovius.--Bayle, too, says of him, "Il fit entrer plus de feu et plus de force dans ses livres qu'il n'y en eût mis s'il avoit joui d'une condition plus tranquille."]

In that contempt for the world's opinion, which led Dante to exclaim, "Lascia dir le genti," Lord Byron also bore a strong resemblance to that poet,--though far more, it must be confessed, in profession than reality. For, while scorn for the public voice was on his lips, the keenest sensitiveness to its every breath was in his heart; and, as if every feeling of his nature was to have some painful mixture in it, together with the pride of Dante which led him to disdain public opinion, he combined the susceptibility of Petrarch which placed him shrinkingly at its mercy.

His agreement, in some other features of character, with Petrarch, I have already had occasion to remark[1]; and if it be true, as is often surmised, that Byron's want of a due reverence for Shakspeare arose from some latent and hardly conscious jealousy of that poet's fame, a similar feeling is known to have existed in Petrarch towards Dante; and the same reason assigned for it,--that from the living he had nothing to fear, while before the shade of Dante he might have reason to feel humbled,--is also not a little applicable[2] in the case of Lord Byron.

[Footnote 1: Some passages in Foscolo's Essay on Petrarch may be applied, with equal truth, to Lord Byron.--For instance, "It was hardly possible with Petrarch to write a sentence without portraying himself"--"Petrarch, allured by the idea that his celebrity would magnify into importance all the ordinary occurrences of his life, satisfied the curiosity of the world," &c. &c.--and again, with still more striking applicability,--"In Petrarch's letters, as well as in his Poems and Treatises, we always identify the author with the man, who felt himself irresistibly impelled to develope his own intense feelings. Being endowed with almost all the noble, and with some of the paltry passions of our nature, and having never attempted to conceal them, he awakens us to reflection upon ourselves while we contemplate in him a being of our own species, yet different from any other, and whose originality excites even more sympathy than admiration."]

[Footnote 2: "II Petrarca poteva credere candidamente ch'ei non pativa d'invidia solamente, perché fra tutti i viventi non v'era chi non s'arretrasse per cedergli il passo alla prima gloria, ch'ei non poteva sentirsi umiliato, fuorchè dall' ombra di Dante."]

Between the dispositions and habits of Alfieri and those of the noble poet of England, no less remarkable coincidences might be traced; and the sonnet in which the Italian dramatist professes to paint his own character contains, in one comprehensive line, a portrait of the versatile author of Don Juan,--

"Or stimandome Achille ed or Tersite."

By the extract just given from his Journal, it will be perceived that, in Byron's own opinion, a character which, like his, admitted of so many contradictory comparisons, could not be otherwise than wholly undefinable itself. It will be found, however, on reflection, that this very versatility, which renders it so difficult to fix, "ere it change," the fairy fabric of his character, is, in itself, the true clue through all that fabric's mazes,--is in itself the solution of whatever was most dazzling in his might or startling in his levity, of all that most attracted and repelled, whether in his life or his genius. A variety of powers almost boundless, and a pride no less vast in displaying them,--a susceptibility of new impressions and impulses, even beyond the usual allotment of genius, and an uncontrolled impetuosity, as well from habit as temperament, in yielding to them,--such were the two great and leading sources of all that varied spectacle which his life exhibited; of that succession of victories achieved by his genius, in almost every field of mind that genius ever trod, and of all those sallies of character in every shape and direction that unchecked feeling and dominant self-will could dictate.

It must be perceived by all endowed with quick powers of association how constantly, when any particular thought or sentiment presents itself to their minds, its very opposite, at the same moment, springs up there also:--if any thing sublime occurs, its neighbour, the ridiculous, is by its side;--across a bright view of the present or the future, a dark one throws its shadow;--and, even in questions respecting morals and conduct, all the reasonings and consequences that may suggest themselves on the side of one of two opposite courses will, in such minds, be instantly confronted by an array just as cogent on the other. A mind of this structure,--and such, more or less, are all those in which the reasoning is made subservient to the imaginative faculty,--though enabled, by such rapid powers of association, to multiply its resources without end, has need of the constant exercise of a controlling judgment to keep its perceptions pure and undisturbed between the contrasts it thus simultaneously calls up; the obvious danger being that, where matters of taste are concerned, the habit of forming such incongruous juxtapositions--as that, for example, between the burlesque and sublime--should at last vitiate the mind's relish for the nobler and higher quality; and that, on the yet more important subject of morals, a facility in finding reasons for every side of a question may end, if not in the choice of the worst, at least in a sceptical indifference to all.

In picturing to oneself so awful an event as a shipwreck, its many horrors and perils are what alone offer themselves to ordinary fancies. But the keen, versatile imagination of Byron could detect in it far other details, and, at the same moment with all that is fearful and appalling in such a scene, could bring together all that is most ludicrous and low. That in this painful mixture he was but too true to human nature, the testimony of De Retz (himself an eye-witness of such an event) attests:--"Vous ne pouvez vous imaginer (says the Cardinal) l'horreur d'une grande tempête;--vous en pouvez imaginer aussi pen le ridicule." But, assuredly, a poet less wantoning in the variety of his power, and less proud of displaying it, would have paused ere he mixed up, thus mockingly, the degradation of humanity with its sufferings, and, content to probe us to the core with the miseries of our fellow-men, would have forborne to wring from us, the next moment, a bitter smile at their baseness.

To the moral sense so dangerous are the effects of this quality, that it would hardly, perhaps, be generalising too widely to assert that wheresoever great versatility of power exists, there will also be found a tendency to versatility of principle. The poet Chatterton, in whose soul the seeds of all that is good and bad in genius so prematurely ripened, said, in the consciousness of this multiple faculty, that he "held that man in contempt who could not write on both sides of a question;" and it was by acting in accordance with this principle himself that he brought one of the few stains upon his name which a life so short afforded time to incur. Mirabeau, too, when, in the legal warfare between his father and mother, he helped to draw up for each the pleadings against the other, was influenced less, no doubt, by the pleasure of mischief than by this pride of talent, and lost sight of the unnatural perfidy of the task in the adroitness with which he executed it.

The quality which I have here denominated versatility, as applied to _power_, Lord Byron has himself designated by the French word "mobility," as applied to _feeling_ and _conduct_; and, in one of the Cantos of Don Juan, has described happily some of its lighter features. After telling us that his hero had begun to doubt, from the great predominance of this quality in her, "how much of Adeline was _real_," he says,--

"So well she acted, all and every part, By turns,--with that vivacious versatility, Which many people take for want of heart. They err--'tis merely what is called mobility, A thing of temperament and not of art, Though seeming so, from its supposed facility; And false--though true; for surely they're sincerest, Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest."

That he was fully aware not only of the abundance of this quality in his own nature, but of the danger in which it placed consistency and singleness of character, did not require the note on this passage, where he calls it "an unhappy attribute," to assure us. The consciousness, indeed, of his own natural tendency to yield thus to every chance impression, and change with every passing impulse, was not only for ever present in his mind, but,--aware as he was of the suspicion of weakness attached by the world to any retractation or abandonment of long professed opinions,--had the effect of keeping him in that general line of consistency, on certain great subjects, which, notwithstanding occasional fluctuations and contradictions as to the details of these very subjects, he continued to preserve throughout life. A passage from one of his manuscripts will show how sagaciously he saw the necessity of guarding himself against his own instability in this respect. "The world visits change of politics or change of religion with a more severe censure than a mere difference of opinion would appear to me to deserve. But there must be some reason for this feeling;--and I think it is that these departures from the earliest instilled ideas of our childhood, and from the line of conduct chosen by us when we first enter into public life, have been seen to have more mischievous results for society, and to prove more weakness of mind than other actions, in themselves, more immoral."

The same distrust in his own steadiness, thus keeping alive in him a conscientious self-watchfulness, concurred not a little, I have no doubt, with the innate kindness of his nature, to preserve so constant and unbroken the greater number of his attachments through life;--some of them, as in the instance of his mother, owing evidently more to a sense of duty than to real affection, the consistency with which, so creditably to the strength of his character, they were maintained.

But while in these respects, as well as in the sort of task-like perseverance with which the habits and amusements of his youth were held fast by him, he succeeded in conquering the variableness and love of novelty so natural to him, in all else that could engage his mind, in all the excursions, whether of his reason or his fancy, he gave way to this versatile humour without scruple or check,--taking every shape in which genius could manifest its power, and transferring himself to every region of thought where new conquests were to be achieved.

It was impossible but that such a range of will and power should be abused. It was impossible that, among the spirits he invoked from all quarters, those of darkness should not appear, at his bidding, with those of light. And here the dangers of an energy so multifold, and thus luxuriating in its own transformations, show themselves. To this one great object of displaying power,--various, splendid, and all-adorning power,--every other consideration and duty were but too likely to be sacrificed. Let the advocate but display his eloquence and art, no matter what the cause;--let the stamp of energy be but left behind, no matter with what seal. _Could_ it have been expected that from such a career no mischief would ensue, or that among these cross-lights of imagination the moral vision could remain undisturbed? _Is_ it to be at all wondered at that in the works of one thus gifted and carried away, we should find,--wholly, too, without any prepense design of corrupting on his side,--a false splendour given to Vice to make it look like Virtue, and Evil too often invested with a grandeur which belongs intrinsically but to Good?

Among the less serious ills flowing from this abuse of his great versatile powers,--more especially as exhibited in his most characteristic work, Don Juan,--it will be found that even the strength and impressiveness of his poetry is sometimes not a little injured by the capricious and desultory flights into which this pliancy of wing allures him. It must be felt, indeed, by all readers of that work, and particularly by those who, being gifted with but a small portion of such ductility themselves, are unable to keep pace with his changes, that the suddenness with which he passes from one strain of sentiment to another,--from the frolic to the sad, from the cynical to the tender,--begets a distrust in the sincerity of one or both moods of mind which interferes with, if not chills, the sympathy that a more natural transition would inspire. In general such a suspicion would do him injustice; as, among the singular combinations which his mind presented, that of uniting at once versatility and depth of feeling was not the least remarkable. But, on the whole, favourable as was all this quickness and variety of association to the extension of the range and resources of his poetry, it may be questioned whether a more select concentration of his powers would not have afforded a still more grand and precious result. Had the minds of Milton and Tasso been thus thrown open to the incursions of light, ludicrous fancies, who can doubt that those solemn sanctuaries of genius would have been as much injured as profaned by the intrusion?--and it is at least a question whether, if Lord Byron had not been so actively versatile, so totally under the dominion of

"A fancy, like the air, most free, And full of mutability,"

he would not have been less wonderful, perhaps, but more great.

Nor was it only in his poetical creations that this love and power of variety showed itself:--one of the most pervading weaknesses of his life may be traced to the same fertile source. The pride of personating every description of character, evil as well as good, influenced but too much, as we have seen, his ambition, and, not a little, his conduct; and as, in poetry, his own experience of the ill effects of passion was made to minister materials to the workings of his imagination, so, in return, his imagination supplied that dark colouring under which he so often disguised his true aspect from the world. To such a perverse length, indeed, did he carry this fancy for self-defamation, that if (as sometimes, in his moments of gloom, he persuaded himself,) there was any tendency to derangement in his mental conformation[1], on this point alone could it be pronounced to have manifested itself.[2] In the early part of my acquaintance with him, when he most gave way to this humour,--for it was observable afterwards, when the world joined in his own opinion of himself, he rather shrunk from the echo,--I have known him more than once, as we have sat together after dinner, and he was, at the time, perhaps, a little under the influence of wine, to fall seriously into this sort of dark and self-accusing mood, and throw out hints of his past life with an air of gloom and mystery designed evidently to awaken curiosity and interest. He was, however, too promptly alive to the least approaches of ridicule not to perceive, on these occasions, that the gravity of his hearer was only prevented from being disturbed by an effort of politeness, and he accordingly never again tried this romantic mystification upon me. From what I have known, however, of his experiments upon more impressible listeners, I have little doubt that, to produce effect at the moment, there is hardly any crime so dark or desperate of which, in the excitement of thus acting upon the imaginations of others, he would not have hinted that he had been guilty; and it has sometimes occurred to me that the occult cause of his lady's separation from him, round which herself and her legal adviser have thrown such formidable mystery, may have been nothing more, after all, than some imposture of this kind, some dimly hinted confession of undefined horrors, which, though intended by the relater but to mystify and surprise, the hearer so little understood him as to take in sober seriousness.

[Footnote 1: We have seen how often, in his Journals and Letters, this suspicion of his own mental soundness is intimated. A similar notion, with respect to himself, seems to have taken hold also of the strong mind of Johnson, who, like Byron, too, was disposed to attribute to an hereditary tinge that melancholy which, as he said, "made him mad all his life, at least not sober." This peculiar feature of Johnson's mind has, in the late new edition of Boswell's Life of him, given rise to some remarks, pregnant with all the editor's well known acuteness, which, as bearing on a point so important in the history of the human intellect, will be found worthy of all attention.

In one of the many letters of Lord Byron to myself, which I have thought right to omit, I find him tracing this supposed disturbance of his own faculties to the marriage of Miss Chaworth;--"a marriage," he says, "for which she sacrificed the prospects of two very ancient families, and a heart which was hers from ten years old, and a head which has never been quite right since."]

[Footnote 2: In his Diary of 1814 there is a passage (vol. ii. page 270.) which I had preserved solely for the purpose of illustrating this obliquity of his mind, intending, at the same time, to accompany it with an explanatory note. From some inadvertence, however, the note was omitted; and, thus left to itself, this piece of mystification has, with the French readers of the work, I see, succeeded most perfectly; there being no imaginable variety of murder which the votaries of the new romantic school have not been busily extracting out of the mystery of that passage.]

This strange propensity with which the man was, as it were, inoculated by the poet, re-acted back again upon his poetry, so as to produce, in some of his delineations of character, that inconsistency which has not unfrequently been noticed by his critics,--namely, the junction of one or two lofty and shining virtues with "a thousand crimes" altogether incompatible with them; this anomaly being, in fact, accounted for by the two different sorts of ambition that actuated him,--the natural one, of infusing into his personages those high and kindly qualities he felt conscious of within himself, and the artificial one, of investing them with those crimes which he so boyishly wished imputed to him by the world.

Independently, however, of any such efforts towards blackening his own name, and even after he had learned from bitter experience the rash folly of such a system, there was still, in the openness and over-frankness of his nature, and that indulgence of impulse with which he gave utterance to, if not acted upon, every chance impression of the moment, more than sufficient to bring his character, in all its least favourable lights, before the world. Who is there, indeed, that could bear to be judged by even the best of those unnumbered thoughts that course each other, like waves of the sea, through our minds, passing away unuttered, and, for the most part, even unowned by ourselves?--Yet to such a test was Byron's character throughout his whole life exposed. As well from the precipitance with which he gave way to every impulse as from the passion he had for recording his own impressions, all those heterogeneous thoughts, fantasies, and desires that, in other men's minds, "come like shadows, so depart," were by him fixed and embodied as they presented themselves, and, at once, taking a shape cognizable by public opinion, either in his actions or his words, either in the hasty letter of the moment, or the poem for all time, laid open such a range of vulnerable points before his judges, as no one individual perhaps ever before, of himself, presented.

With such abundance and variety of materials for portraiture, it may easily be conceived how two professed delineators of his character, the one over partial and the other malicious, might,--the former, by selecting only the fairer, and the latter only the darker, features,--produce two portraits of Lord Byron, as much differing from each other as they would both be, on the whole, unlike the original.

Of the utter powerlessness of retention with which he promulgated his every thought and feeling,--more especially if at all connected with the subject of self,--without allowing even a pause for the almost instinctive consideration whether by such disclosures he might not be conveying a calumnious impression of himself, a stronger instance could hardly be given than is to be found in a conversation held by him with Mr. Trelawney, as reported by this latter gentleman, when they were on their way together to Greece. After some remarks on the state of his own health[1], mental and bodily, he said, "I don't know how it is, but I am so cowardly at times, that if, this morning, you had come down and horsewhipped me, I should have submitted without opposition. Why is this? If one of these fits come over me when we are in Greece, what shall I do?"--"I told him (continues Mr. Trelawney) that it was the excessive debility of his nerves. He said, 'Yes, and of my head, too. I was very heroic when I left Genoa, but, like Acres, I feel my courage oozing out at my palms.'"

[Footnote 1: "He often mentioned," says Mr. Trelawney, "that he thought he should not live many years, and said that he would die in Greece." This he told me at Cephalonia. He always seemed unmoved on these occasions, perfectly indifferent as to when he died, only saying that he could not bear pain. On our voyage we had been reading with great attention the life and letters of Swift, edited by Scott, and we almost daily, or rather nightly, talked them over; and he more than once expressed his horror of existing in that state, and expressed some fears that it would be his fate.]

It will hardly, by those who know any thing of human nature, be denied that such misgivings and heart-sinkings as are here described may, under a similar depression of spirits, have found their way into the thoughts of some of the gallantest hearts that ever breathed;--but then, untold and unremembered, even by the sufferer himself, they passed off with the passing infirmity that produced them, leaving neither to truth to record them as proofs of want of health, nor to calumny to fasten upon them a suspicion of want of bravery. The assertion of some one that all men are by nature cowardly would seem to be countenanced by the readiness with which most men believe others so. "I have lived," says the Prince de Ligne, "to hear Voltaire called a fool, and the great Frederick a coward." The Duke of Marlborough in his own times, and Napoleon in ours, have found persons not only to assert but believe the same charge against them. After such glaring instances of the tendency of some minds to view greatness only through an inverting medium, it need little surprise us that Lord Byron's conduct in Greece should, on the same principle, have engendered a similar insinuation against him; nor should I have at all noticed the weak slander, but for the opportunity which it affords me of endeavouring to point out what appears to me the peculiar nature of the courage by which, on all occasions that called for it, he so strikingly distinguished himself.

Whatever virtue may be allowed to belong to personal courage, it is, most assuredly, they who are endowed by nature with the liveliest imaginations, and who have therefore most vividly and simultaneously before their eyes all the remote and possible consequences of danger, that are most deserving of whatever praise attends the exercise of that virtue. A bravery of this kind, which springs more out of mind than temperament,--or rather, perhaps, out of the conquest of the former over the latter,--will naturally proportion its exertion to the importance of the occasion; and the same person who is seen to shrink with an almost feminine fear from ignoble and every-day perils, may be found foremost in the very jaws of danger where honour is to be either maintained or won. Nor does this remark apply only to the imaginative class, of whom I am chiefly treating. By the same calculating principle, it will be found that most men whose bravery is the result not of temperament but reflection, are regulated in their daring. The wise De Wit, though negligent of his life on great occasions, was not ashamed, we are told, of dreading and avoiding whatever endangered it on others.

Of the apprehensiveness that attends quick imaginations, Lord Byron had, of course, a considerable share, and in all situations of ordinary peril gave way to it without reserve. I have seldom seen any person, male or female, more timid in a carriage; and, in riding, his preparation against accidents showed the same nervous and imaginative fearfulness. "His bridle," says the late Lord B----, who rode frequently with him at Genoa, "had, besides cavesson and martingale, various reins; and whenever he came near a place where his horse was likely to shy, he gathered up these said reins and fixed himself as if he was going at a five-barred gate." None surely but the most superficial or most prejudiced observers could ever seriously found upon such indications of nervousness any conclusion against the real courage of him who was subject to them. The poet Ariosto, who was, it seems, a victim to the same fair-weather alarms,--who, when on horseback, would alight at the least appearance of danger, and on the water was particularly timorous,--could yet, in the action between the Pope's vessels and the Duke of Ferrara's, fight like a lion; and in the same manner the courage of Lord Byron, as all his companions in peril testify, was of that noblest kind which rises with the greatness of the occasion, and becomes but the more self-collected and resisting, the more imminent the danger.

In proposing to show that the distinctive properties of Lord Byron's character, as well moral as literary, arose mainly from those two great sources, the unexampled versatility of his powers and feelings, and the facility with which he gave way to the impulses of both, it had been my intention to pursue the subject still further in detail, and to endeavour to trace throughout the various excellences and defects, both of his poetry and his life, the operation of these two dominant attributes of his nature. "No men," says Cowper, in speaking of persons of a versatile turn of mind, "are better qualified for companions in such a world as this than men of such temperament. Every scene of life has two sides, a dark and a bright one; and the mind that has an equal mixture of melancholy and vivacity is best of all qualified for the contemplation of either." It would not be difficult to show that to this readiness in reflecting all hues, whether of the shadows or the lights of our variegated existence, Lord Byron owed not only the great range of his influence as a poet, but those powers of fascination which he possessed as a man. This susceptibility, indeed, of immediate impressions, which in him was so active, lent a charm, of all others the most attractive, to his social intercourse, by giving to those who were, at the moment, present, such ascendant influence, that they alone for the time occupied all his thoughts and feelings, and brought whatever was most agreeable in his nature into play.[1]

[Footnote 1: In reference to his power of adapting himself to all sorts of society, and taking upon himself all varieties of character, I find a passage in one of my early letters to him (from Ireland) which, though it might be expressed, perhaps, in better taste, is worth citing for its truth:--"Though I have not written, I have seldom ceased to think of you; for you are that sort of being whom every thing, high or low, brings into one's mind. Whether I am with the wise or the waggish, among poets or among pugilists, over the book or over the bottle, you are sure to connect yourself transcendently with all, and come 'armed for _every_ field' into my memory."]

So much did this extreme mobility,--this readiness to be "strongly acted on by what was nearest,"--abound in his disposition, that, even with the casual acquaintances of the hour, his heart was upon his lips[1], and it depended wholly upon themselves whether they might not become at once the depositories of every secret, if it might be so called, of his whole life. That in this convergence of all the powers of pleasing towards present objects, those absent should be sometimes forgotten, or, what is worse, sacrificed to the reigning desire of the moment, is unluckily one of the alloys attendant upon persons of this temperament, which renders their fidelity, either as lovers or confidants, not a little precarious. But of the charm which such a disposition diffuses through the manner there can be but little doubt,--and least of all among those who have ever felt its influence in Lord Byron. Neither are the instances in which he has been known to make imprudent disclosures of what had been said or written by others of the persons with whom he was conversing to be all set down to this rash overflow of the social hour. In his own frankness of spirit, and hatred of all disguise, this practice, pregnant as it was with inconvenience, and sometimes danger, in a great degree originated. To confront the accused with the accuser was, in such cases, his delight,--not only as a revenge for having been made the medium of what men durst not say openly to each other, but as a gratification of that love of small mischief which he had retained from boyhood, and which the confusion that followed such exposures was always sure to amuse. This habit, too, being, as I have before remarked, well known to his friends, their sense of prudence, if not their fairness, was put fully on its guard, and he himself was spared the pain of hearing what he could not, without inflicting still worse, repeat.

[Footnote 1: It is curious to observe how, in all times, and all countries, what is called the poetical temperament has, in the great possessors, and victims, of that gift, produced similar effects. In the following passage, the biographer of Tasso has, in painting that poet, described Byron also:--"There are some persons of a sensibility so powerful, that whoever happens to be with them is, at that moment, to them the world: their hearts involuntarily open; they are prompted by a strong desire to please; and they thus make confidants of their sentiments people whom they in reality regard with indifference."]

A most apt illustration of this point of his character is to be found in an anecdote told of him by Parry, who, though himself the victim, had the sense and good temper to perceive the source to which Byron's conduct was to be traced. While the Turkish fleet was blockading Missolonghi, his Lordship, one day, attended by Parry, proceeded in a small punt, rowed by a boy, to the mouth of the harbour, while in a large boat accompanying them were Prince Mavrocordato and his attendants. In this situation, an indignant feeling of contempt and impatience at the supineness of their Greek friends seized the engineer, and he proceeded to vent this feeling to Lord Byron in no very measured terms, pronouncing Prince Mavrocordato to be "an old gentlewoman," and concluding, according to his own statement, with the following words:--"If I were in their place, I should be in a fever at the thought of my own incapacity and ignorance, and should burn with impatience to attempt the destruction of those rascal Turks. But the Greeks and the Turks are opponents worthy, by their imbecility, of each other."

"I had scarcely explained myself fully," adds Mr. Parry, "when his Lordship ordered our boat to be placed alongside the other, and actually related our whole conversation to the Prince. In doing it, however, he took on himself the task of pacifying both the Prince and me, and though I was at first very angry, and the Prince, I believe, very much annoyed, he succeeded. Mavrocordato afterwards showed no dissatisfaction with me, and I prized Lord Byron's regard too much, to remain long displeased with a proceeding which was only an unpleasant manner of reproving us both."

Into these and other such branches from the main course of his character, it might have been a task of some interest to investigate,--certain as we should be that, even in the remotest and narrowest of these windings, some of the brightness and strength of the original current would be perceptible. Enough however has been, perhaps, said to set other minds upon supplying what remains:--if the track of analysis here opened be the true one, to follow it in its further bearings will not be difficult. Already, indeed, I may be thought by some readers to have occupied too large a portion of these pages, not only in tracing out such "nice dependencies" and gradations of my friend's character, but still more uselessly, as may be conceived, in recording all the various habitudes and whims by which the course of his every-day life was distinguished from that of other people. That the critics of the day should think it due to their own importance to object to trifles is naturally to be expected; but that, in other times, such minute records of a Byron will be read with interest, even such critics cannot doubt. To know that Catiline walked with an agitated and uncertain gait is, by no mean judge of human nature, deemed important as an indication of character. But far less significant details will satisfy the idolaters of genius. To be told that Tasso loved malmsey and thought it favourable to poetic inspiration is a piece of intelligence, even at the end of three centuries, not unwelcome; while a still more amusing proof of the disposition of the world to remember little things of the great is, that the poet Petrarch's excessive fondness for turnips is one of the few traditions still preserved of him at Arqua.

The personal appearance of Lord Byron has been so frequently described, both by pen and pencil, that were it not the bounden duty of the biographer to attempt some such sketch, the task would seem superfluous. Of his face, the beauty may be pronounced to have been of the highest order, as combining at once regularity of features with the most varied and interesting expression. The same facility, indeed, of change observable in the movements of his mind was seen also in the free play of his features, as the passing thoughts within darkened or shone through them.

His eyes, though of a light grey, were capable of all extremes of expression, from the most joyous hilarity to the deepest sadness, from the very sunshine of benevolence to the most concentrated scorn or rage. Of this latter passion, I had once an opportunity of seeing what fiery interpreters they could be, on my telling him, thoughtlessly enough, that a friend of mine had said to me--"Beware of Lord Byron; he will some day or other do something very wicked."--"Was it man or woman said so?" he exclaimed, suddenly turning round upon me with a look of such intense anger as, though it lasted not an instant, could not easily be forgot, and of which no better idea can be given than in the words of one who, speaking of Chatterton's eyes, says that "fire rolled at the bottom of them."

But it was in the mouth and chin that the great beauty as well as expression of his fine countenance lay. "Many pictures have been painted of him," says a fair critic of his features, "with various success; but the excessive beauty of his lips escaped every painter and sculptor. In their ceaseless play they represented every emotion, whether pale with anger, curled in disdain, smiling in triumph, or dimpled with archness and love." It would be injustice to the reader not to borrow from the same pencil a few more touches of portraiture. "This extreme facility of expression was sometimes painful, for I have seen him look absolutely ugly--I have seen him look so hard and cold, that you must hate him, and then, in a moment, brighter than the sun, with such playful softness in his look, such affectionate eagerness kindling in his eyes, and dimpling his lips into something more sweet than a smile, that you forgot the man, the Lord Byron, in the picture of beauty presented to you, and gazed with intense curiosity--I had almost said--as if to satisfy yourself, that thus looked the god of poetry, the god of the Vatican, when he conversed with the sons and daughters of man."

His head was remarkably small[1],--so much so as to be rather out of proportion with his face. The forehead, though a little too narrow, was high, and appeared more so from his having his hair (to preserve it, as he said,) shaved over the temples; while the glossy, dark-brown curls, clustering over his head, gave the finish to its beauty. When to this is added, that his nose, though handsomely, was rather thickly shaped, that his teeth were white and regular, and his complexion colourless, as good an idea perhaps as it is in the power of mere words to convey may be conceived of his features.

[Footnote 1: "Several of us, one day," says Colonel Napier, "tried on his hat, and in a party of twelve or fourteen, who were at dinner, _not one_ could put it on, so exceedingly small was his head. My servant, Thomas Wells, who had the smallest head in the 90th regiment (so small that he could hardly get a cap to fit him), was the only person who could put on Lord Byron's hat, and him it fitted exactly."]

In height he was, as he himself has informed us, five feet eight inches and a half, and to the length of his limbs he attributed his being such a good swimmer. His hands were very white, and--according to his own notion of the size of hands as indicating birth--aristocratically small. The lameness of his right foot[1], though an obstacle to grace, but little impeded the activity of his movements; and from this circumstance, as well as from the skill with which the foot was disguised by means of long trowsers, it would be difficult to conceive a defect of this kind less obtruding itself as a deformity; while the diffidence which a constant consciousness of the infirmity gave to his first approach and address made, in him, even lameness a source of interest.

[Footnote 1: In speaking of this lameness at the commencement of my work, I forbore, both from my own doubts on the subject and the great variance I found in the recollections of others, from stating in _which_ of his feet this lameness existed. It will, indeed, with difficulty be believed what uncertainty I found upon this point, even among those most intimate with him. Mr. Hunt, in his book, states it to have been the left foot that was deformed, and this, though contrary to my own impression, and, as it appears also, to the fact, was the opinion I found also of others who had been much in the habit of living with him. On applying to his early friends at Southwell and to the shoemaker of that town who worked for him, so little prepared were they to answer with any certainty on the subject, that it was only by recollecting that the lame foot "was the off one in going up the street" they at last came to the conclusion that his right limb was the one affected; and Mr. Jackson, his preceptor in pugilism, was, in like manner, obliged to call to mind whether his noble pupil was a right or left hand hitter before he could arrive at the same decision.]

In looking again into the Journal from which it was my intention to give extracts, the following unconnected opinions, or rather reveries, most of them on points connected with his religious opinions, are all that I feel tempted to select. To an assertion in the early part of this work, that "at no time of his life was Lord Byron a confirmed unbeliever," it has been objected, that many passages of his writings prove the direct contrary. This assumption, however, as well as the interpretation of most of the passages referred to in its support, proceed, as it appears to me, upon the mistake, not uncommon in conversation, of confounding together the meanings of the words unbeliever and sceptic,--the former implying decision of opinion, and the latter only doubt. I have myself, I find, not always kept the significations of the two words distinct, and in one instance have so far fallen into the notion of these objectors as to speak of Byron in his youth as "an unbelieving school-boy," when the word "doubting" would have more truly expressed my meaning. With this necessary explanation, I shall here repeat my assertion; or rather--to clothe its substance in a different form--shall say that Lord Byron was, to the last, a sceptic, which, in itself, implies that he was, at no time, a confirmed unbeliever.

* * * * *

"If I were to live over again, I do not know what I would change in my life, unless it were _for--not to have lived at all_.[1] All history and experience, and the rest, teaches us that the good and evil are pretty equally balanced in this existence, and that what is most to be desired is an easy passage out of it. What can it give us but years? and those have little of good but their ending.

[Footnote 1: Swift "early adopted," says Sir Walter Scott, "the custom of observing his birth-day, as a term, not of joy, but of sorrow, and of reading, when it annually recurred, the striking passage of Scripture, in which Job laments and execrates the day upon which it was said in his father's house 'that a man-child was born.'"--_Life of Swift._]

* * * * *

"Of the immortality of the soul it appears to me that there can be little doubt, if we attend for a moment to the action of mind: it is in perpetual activity. I used to doubt of it, but reflection has taught me better. It acts also so very independent of body--in dreams, for instance;--incoherently and _madly_, I grant you, but still it is mind, and much more mind than when we are awake. Now that this should not act _separately_, as well as jointly, who can pronounce? The stoics, Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius, call the present state 'a soul which drags a carcass,'--a heavy chain, to be sure, but all chains being material may be shaken off. How far our future life will be _individual_, or, rather, how far it will at all resemble _our present_ existence, is another question; but that the mind is eternal seems as probable as that the body is not so. Of course I here venture upon the question without recurring to revelation, which, however, is at least as rational a solution of it as any other. A _material_ resurrection seems strange and even absurd, except for purposes of punishment; and all punishment which is to _revenge_ rather than _correct_ must be _morally wrong_; and _when the world is at an end_, what moral or warning purpose _can_ eternal tortures answer? Human passions have probably disfigured the divine doctrines here;--but the whole thing is inscrutable.

* * * * *

"It is useless to tell me _not_ to _reason_, but to _believe._ You might as well tell a man not to wake, but _sleep._ And then to _bully_ with torments, and all that! I cannot help thinking that the _menace_ of hell makes as many devils as the severe penal codes of inhuman humanity make villains.

* * * * *

"Man is born _passionate_ of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of good in his main-spring of mind. But, God help us all! it is at present a sad jar of atoms.

* * * * *

"Matter is eternal, always changing, but reproduced, and, as far as we can comprehend eternity, eternal; and why not _mind_? Why should not the mind act with and upon the universe, as portions of it act upon, and with, the congregated dust called mankind? See how one man acts upon himself and others, or upon multitudes! The same agency, in a higher and purer degree, may act upon the stars, &c. ad infinitum.

* * * * *

"I have often been inclined to materialism in philosophy, but could never bear its introduction into _Christianity_, which appears to me essentially founded upon the _soul_. For this reason Priestley's Christian Materialism always struck me as deadly. Believe the resurrection of the _body_, if you will, but _not without_ a _soul_. The deuce is in it, if after having had a soul, (as surely the _mind_, or whatever you call it, _is,_) in this world, we must part with it in the _next_, even for an immortal materiality! I own my partiality for _spirit_.

* * * * *

"I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day, as if there was some association between an internal approach to greater light and purity and the kindler of this dark lantern of our external existence.

* * * * *

"The night is also a religious concern, and even more so when I viewed the moon and stars through Herschell's telescope, and saw that they were worlds.

* * * * *

"If, according to some speculations, you could prove the world many thousand years older than the Mosaic chronology, or if you could get rid of Adam and Eve, and the apple, and serpent, still, what is to be put up in their stead? or how is the difficulty removed? Things must have had a beginning, and what matters it _when_ or _how_?

* * * * *

"I sometimes think that _man_ may be the relic of some higher material being wrecked in a former world, and degenerated in the hardship and struggle through chaos into conformity, or something like it,--as we see Laplanders, Esquimaux, &c. inferior in the present state, as the elements become more inexorable. But even then this higher pre-Adamite supposititious creation must have had an origin and a _Creator_--for a _creation_ is a more natural imagination than a fortuitous concourse of atoms: all things remount to a fountain, though they may flow to an ocean.

* * * * *

"Plutarch says, in his Life of Lysander, that Aristotle observes 'that in general great geniuses are of a melancholy turn, and instances Socrates, Plato, and Hercules (or Heraclitus), as examples, and Lysander, though not while young, yet as inclined to it when approaching towards age.' Whether I am a genius or not, I have been called such by my friends as well as enemies, and in more countries and languages than one, and also within a no very long period of existence. Of my genius, I can say nothing, but of my melancholy, that it is 'increasing, and ought to be diminished.' But how?

"I take it that most men are so at bottom, but that it is only remarked in the remarkable. The Duchesse de Broglio, in reply to a remark of mine on the errors of clever people, said that 'they were not worse than others, only, being more in view, more noted, especially in all that could reduce them to the rest, or raise the rest to them.' In 1816, this was.

"In fact (I suppose that) if the follies of fools were all set down like those of the wise, the wise (who seem at present only a better sort of fools) would appear almost intelligent.

* * * * *

"It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be _constantly_ before us: a year impairs; a lustre obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory. _Then_, indeed, the lights are rekindled for a moment; but who can be sure that imagination is not the torch-bearer? Let any man try at the end of _ten_ years to bring before him the features, or the mind, or the sayings, or the habits of his best friend, or his _greatest_ man, (I mean his favourite, his Buonaparte, his this, that, or t'other,) and he will be surprised at the extreme confusion of his ideas. I speak confidently on this point, having always passed for one who had a good, ay, an excellent memory. I except, indeed, our recollection of womankind; there is no forgetting _them_ (and be d--d to them) any more than any other remarkable era, such as 'the revolution,' or 'the plague,' or 'the invasion,' or 'the comet,' or 'the war' of such and such an epoch,--being the favourite dates of mankind who have so many _blessings_ in their lot that they never make their calendars from them, being too common. For instance, you see 'the great drought,' 'the Thames frozen over,' 'the seven years' war broke out,' 'the English, or French, or Spanish revolution commenced,' 'the Lisbon earthquake,' 'the Lima earthquake,' 'the earthquake of Calabria,' 'the plague of London,' ditto 'of Constantinople,' 'the sweating sickness,' 'the yellow fever of Philadelphia,' &c. &c. &c.; but you don't see 'the abundant harvest,' 'the fine summer,' 'the long peace,' 'the wealthy speculation,' 'the wreckless voyage,' recorded so emphatically! By the way, there has been a _thirty years' war_ and a _seventy years' war_; was there ever a _seventy_ or a _thirty years' peace_? or was there even a DAY'S _universal_ peace? except perhaps in China, where they have found out the miserable happiness of a stationary and unwarlike mediocrity. And is all this because nature is niggard or savage? or mankind ungrateful? Let philosophers decide. I am none.

* * * * *

"In general, I do not draw well with literary men; not that I dislike them, but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication. There are several exceptions, to be sure, but then they have either been men of the world, such as Scott and Moore, &c. or visionaries out of it, such as Shelley, &c.: but your literary every-day man and I never went well in company, especially your foreigner, whom I never could abide; except Giordani, and--and--and--(I really can't name any other)--I don't remember a man amongst them whom I ever wished to see twice, except perhaps Mezzophanti, who is a monster of languages, the Briareus of parts of speech, a walking Polyglott and more, who ought to have existed at the time of the Tower of Babel as universal interpreter. He is indeed a marvel--unassuming, also. I tried him in all the tongues of which I knew a single oath, (or adjuration to the gods against post-boys, savages, Tartars, boatmen, sailors, pilots, gondoliers, muleteers, camel-drivers, vetturini, post-masters, post-horses, post-houses, post every thing,) and egad! he astounded me--even to my English.

* * * * *

"'No man would live his life over again,' is an old and true saying which all can resolve for themselves. At the same time, there are probably _moments_ in most men's lives which they would live over the rest of life to _regain_. Else why do we live at all? because Hope recurs to Memory, both false--but--but--but--but--and this _but_ drags on till--what? I do not know; and who does? 'He that died o' Wednesday.'"

* * * * *

In laying before the reader these last extracts from the papers in my possession, it may be expected, perhaps, that I should say something,--in addition to what has been already stated on this subject,--respecting those Memoranda, or Memoirs, which, in the exercise of the discretionary power given to me by my noble friend, I placed, shortly after his death, at the disposal of his sister and executor, and which they, from a sense of what they thought due to his memory, consigned to the flames. As the circumstances, however, connected with the surrender of that manuscript, besides requiring much more detail than my present limits allow, do not, in any respect, concern the character of Lord Byron, but affect solely my own, it is not here, at least, that I feel myself called upon to enter into an explanation of them. The world will, of course, continue to think of that step as it pleases; but it is, after all, on a man's _own_ opinion of his actions that his happiness chiefly depends, and I can only say that, were I again placed in the same circumstances, I would--even at ten times the pecuniary sacrifice which my conduct then cost me--again act precisely in the same manner.

For the satisfaction of those whose regret at the loss of that manuscript arises from some better motive than the mere disappointment of a prurient curiosity, I shall here add, that on the mysterious cause of the separation, it afforded no light whatever;--that, while some of its details could never have been published at all[1], and little, if any, of what it contained personal towards others could have appeared till long after the individuals concerned had left the scene, all that materially related to Lord Byron himself was (as I well knew when I made that sacrifice) to be found repeated in the various Journals and Memorandum-books, which, though not all to be made use of, were, as the reader has seen from the preceding pages, all preserved.

[Footnote 1: This description applies only to the Second Part of the Memoranda; there having been but little unfit for publication in the First Part, which was, indeed, read, as is well known, by many of the noble author's friends.]

As far as suppression, indeed, is blamable, I have had, in the course of this task, abundantly to answer for it; having, as the reader must have perceived, withheld a large portion of my materials, to which Lord Byron, no doubt, in his fearlessness of consequences, would have wished to give publicity, but which, it is now more than probable, will never meet the light.

There remains little more to add. It has been remarked by Lord Orford[1], as "strange, that the writing a man's life should in general make the biographer become enamoured of his subject, whereas one should think that the nicer disquisition one makes into the life of any man, the less reason one should find to love or admire him." On the contrary, may we not rather say that, as knowledge is ever the parent of tolerance, the more insight we gain into the springs and motives of a man's actions, the peculiar circumstances in which he was placed, and the influences and temptations under which he acted, the more allowance we may be inclined to make for his errors, and the more approbation his virtues may extort from us?

[Footnote 1: In speaking of Lord Herbert of Cherbury's Life of Henry VIII.]

The arduous task of being the biographer of Byron is one, at least, on which I have not obtruded myself: the wish of my friend that I should undertake that office having been more than once expressed, at a time when none but a boding imagination like his could have foreseen much chance of the sad honour devolving to me. If in some instances I have consulted rather the spirit than the exact letter of his injunctions, it was with the view solely of doing him more justice than he would have done himself, there being no hands in which his character could have been less safe than his own, nor any greater wrong offered to his memory than the substitution of what he affected to be for what he was. Of any partiality, however, beyond what our mutual friendship accounts for and justifies, I am by no means conscious; nor would it be in the power, indeed, of even the most partial friend to allege any thing more convincingly favourable of his character than is contained in the few simple facts with which I shall here conclude,--that, through life, with all his faults, he never lost a friend;--that those about him in his youth, whether as companions, teachers, or servants, remained attached to him to the last;--that the woman, to whom he gave the love of his maturer years, idolises his name; and that, with a single unhappy exception, scarce an instance is to be found of any one, once brought, however briefly, into relations of amity with him, that did not feel towards him a kind regard in life, and retain a fondness for his memory.

I have now done with the subject, nor shall be easily tempted to recur to it. Any mistakes or misstatements I may be proved to have made shall be corrected;--any new facts which it is in the power of others to produce will speak for themselves. To mere opinions I am not called upon to pay attention--and still less to insinuations or mysteries. I have here told what I myself know and think concerning my friend; and now leave his character, moral as well as literary, to the judgment of the world.

APPENDIX.

* * * * *

TWO EPISTLES FROM THE ARMENIAN VERSION.

THE EPISTLE OF THE CORINTHIANS TO ST. PAUL THE APOSTLE.[1]

1 STEPHEN[2], and the elders with him, Dabnus, Eubulus, Theophilus, and Xinon, to Paul, our father and evangelist, and faithful master in Jesus Christ, health.[3]

2 Two men have come to Corinth, Simon by name, and Cleobus[4], who vehemently disturb the faith of some with deceitful and corrupt words;

3 Of which words thou shouldst inform thyself:

4 For neither have we heard such words from thee, nor from the other apostles:

5 But we know only that what we have heard from thee and from them, that we have kept firmly.

6 But in this chiefly has our Lord had compassion, that, whilst thou art yet with us in the flesh, we are again about to hear from thee.

7 Therefore do thou write to us, or come thyself amongst us quickly.

8 We believe in the Lord, that, as it was revealed to Theonas, he hath delivered thee from the hands of the unrighteous.[5]

9 But these are the sinful words of these impure men, for thus do they say and teach:

10 That it behoves not to admit the Prophets.[6]

11 Neither do they affirm the omnipotence of God:

12 Neither do they affirm the resurrection of the flesh:

13 Neither do they affirm that man was altogether created by God:

14 Neither do they affirm that Jesus Christ was born in the flesh from the Virgin Mary:

15 Neither do they affirm that the world was the work of God, but of some one of the angels.

16 Therefore do thou make haste[7] to come amongst us.

17 That this city of the Corinthians may remain without scandal.

18 And that the folly of these men may be made manifest by an open refutation. Fare thee well.[8]

The deacons Thereptus and Tichus[9] received and conveyed this Epistle to the city of the Philippians.[10]

When Paul received the Epistle, although he was then in chains on account of Stratonice[11], the wife of Apofolanus[12], yet, as it were forgetting his bonds, he mourned over these words, and said, weeping: "It were better for me to be dead, and with the Lord. For while I am in this body, and hear the wretched words of such false doctrine, behold, grief arises upon grief, and my trouble adds a weight to my chains; when I behold this calamity, and progress of the machinations of Satan, who searcheth to do wrong."

And thus, with deep affliction, Paul composed his reply to the Epistle.[13]

[Footnote 1: Some MSS. have the title thus: _Epistle of Stephen the Elder to Paul the Apostle, from the Corinthians_.]

[Footnote 2: In the MSS. the marginal verses published by the Whistons are wanting.]

[Footnote 3: In some MSS. we find, _The elders Numenus, Eubulus, Theophilus, and Nomeson, to Paul their brother, health_!]

[Footnote 4: Others read, _There came certain men, ... and Clobeus, who vehemently shake._]

[Footnote 5: Some MSS. have, _We believe in the Lord, that his presence was made manifest; and by this hath the Lord delivered as from the hands of the unrighteous._]

[Footnote 6: Others read, _To read the Prophets._]

[Footnote 7: Some MSS. have, _Therefore, brother, do thou make haste._]

[Footnote 8: Others read, _Fare thee well in the Lord._]

[Footnote 9: Some MSS. have, _The deacons Therepus and Techus_]

[Footnote 10: The Whistons have, _To the city of Phoenicia_; but in all the MSS. we find, _To the city of the Philippians._]

[Footnote 11: Others read, _On account of Onotice._]

[Footnote 12: The Whistons have, _Of Apollophanus_: but in all the MSS. we read, _Apofolanus_.]

[Footnote 13: In the text of this Epistle there are some other variations in the words, but the sense is the same.]

EPISTLE OF PAUL TO THE CORINTHIANS, [1]

1 Paul, in bonds for Jesus Christ, disturbed by so many errors [2], to his Corinthian brethren, health.

2 I nothing marvel that the preachers of evil have made this progress.

3 For because the Lord Jesus is about to fulfil his coming, verily on this account do certain men pervert and despise his words.

4 But I, verily, from the beginning, have taught you that only which I myself received from the former apostles, who always remained with the Lord Jesus Christ.

5 And I now say unto you, that the Lord Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary, who was of the seed of David,

6 According to the annunciation of the Holy Ghost, sent to her by our Father from heaven;

7 That Jesus might be introduced into the world [3], and deliver our flesh by his flesh, and that he might raise us up from the dead;

8 As in this also he himself became the example:

9 That it might be made manifest that man was created by the Father,

10 He has not remained in perdition unsought [4];

11 But he is sought for, that he might be revived by adoption.

12 For God, who is the Lord of all, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who made heaven and earth, sent, firstly, the Prophets to the Jews:

13 That he would absolve them from their sins, and bring them to his judgment.

14 Because he wished to save, firstly, the house of Israel, he bestowed and poured forth his Spirit upon the Prophets;

15 That they should, for a long time, preach the worship of God, and the nativity of Christ.

16 But he who was the prince of evil, when he wished to make himself God, laid his hand upon them,

17 And bound all men in sin,[5]

18 Because the judgment of the world was approaching.

19 But Almighty God, when he willed to justify, was unwilling to abandon his creature;

20 But when he saw his affliction, he had compassion upon him:

21 And at the end of a time he sent the Holy Ghost into the Virgin foretold by the Prophets.

22 Who, believing readily [6], was made worthy to conceive, and bring forth our Lord Jesus Christ.

23 That from this perishable body, in which the evil spirit was glorified, he should be cast out, and it should be made manifest

24 That he was not God: For Jesus Christ, in his flesh, had recalled and saved this perishable flesh, and drawn it into eternal life by faith.

25 Because in his body he would prepare a pure temple of justice for all ages;

26 In whom we also, when we believe, are saved.

27 Therefore know ye that these men are not the children of justice, but the children of wrath;

28 Who turn away from themselves the compassion of God;

29 Who say that neither the heavens nor the earth were altogether works made by the hand of the Father of all things.[7]

30 But these cursed men[8] have the doctrine of the serpent.

31 But do ye, by the power of God, withdraw yourselves far from these, and expel from amongst you the doctrine of the wicked.

32 Because you are not the children of rebellion [9]; but the sons of the beloved church.

33 And on this account the time of the resurrection is preached to all men.

34 Therefore they who affirm that there is no resurrection of the flesh, they indeed shall not be raised up to eternal life;

35 But to judgment and condemnation shall the unbeliever arise in the flesh:

36 For to that body which denies the resurrection of the body, shall be denied the resurrection: because such are found to refuse the resurrection.

37 But you also, Corinthians! have known, from the seeds of wheat, and from other seeds,

38 That one grain falls [10] dry into the earth, and within it first dies,

39 And afterwards rises again, by the will of the Lord, endued with the same body:

40 Neither indeed does it arise with the same simple body, but manifold, and filled with blessing.

41 But we produce the example not only from seeds, but from the honourable bodies of men. [11]

42 Ye have also known Jonas, the son of Amittai.[12]

43 Because he delayed to preach to the Ninevites, he was swallowed up in the belly of a fish for three days and three nights:

44 And after three days God heard his supplication, and brought him out of the deep abyss;

45 Neither was any part of his body corrupted; neither was his eyebrow bent down.[13]

46 And how much more for you, oh men of little faith;

47 If you believe in our Lord Jesus Christ, will he raise you up, even as he himself hath arisen.

48 If the bones of Elisha the prophet, falling upon the dead, revived the dead,

49 By how much more shall ye, who are supported by the flesh and the blood and the Spirit of Christ, arise again on that day with a perfect body?

50 Elias the prophet, embracing the widow's son, raised him from the dead:

51 By how much more shall Jesus Christ revive you, on that day, with a perfect body, even as he himself hath arisen?

52 But if ye receive other things vainly [14],

53 Henceforth no one shall cause me to travail; for I bear on my body these fetters [15],

54 To obtain Christ; and I suffer with patience these afflictions to become worthy of the resurrection of the dead.

55 And do each of you, having received the law from the hands of the blessed Prophets and the holy gospel [16], firmly maintain it;

56 To the end that you may be rewarded in the resurrection of the dead, and the possession of the life eternal.

57 But if any of ye, not believing, shall trespass, he shall be judged with the misdoers, and punished with those who have false belief.

58 Because such are the generation of vipers, and the children of dragons and basilisks.

59 Drive far from amongst ye, and fly from such, with the aid of our Lord Jesus Christ.

60 And the peace and grace of the beloved Son be upon you.[17] Amen.

_Done into English by me, January-February,_ 1817, _at the Convent of San Lazaro, with the aid and exposition of the Armenian text by the Father Paschal Aucher, Armenian Friar_.

BYRON.

Venice, April 10, 1817.

_I had also the Latin text, but it is in many places very corrupt, and with great omissions_.

[Footnote 1: Some MSS. have, _Paul's Epistle from prison, for the instruction of the Corinthians_.]

[Footnote 2: Others read, _Disturbed by various compunctions_.]

[Footnote 3: Some MSS. have. _That Jesus might comfort the world_.]

[Footnote 4: Others read, _He has not remained indifferent_.]

[Footnote 5: Some MSS have, _Laid his hand, and then and all body bound in sin_.]

[Footnote 6: Others read, _Believing with a pure heart_.]

[Footnote 7: Some MSS. have, _Of God the Father of all things._]

[Footnote 8: Others read, _They curse themselves in this thing._]

[Footnote 9: Others read, _Children of the disobedient._]

[Footnote 10: Some MSS. have, _That one grain falls not dry into the earth._]

[Footnote 11: Others read, _But we have not only produced from seeds, but from the honourable body of man._]

[Footnote 12: Others read, _The son of Ematthius_.]

[Footnote 13: Others add, _Nor did a hair of his body fall therefrom_.]

[Footnote 14: Some MSS. have, _Ye shall not receive other things in vain_.]

[Footnote 15: Others finished here thus, _Henceforth no one can trouble me further, for I bear in my body the sufferings of Christ. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit, my brethren. Amen_.]

[Footnote 16: Some MSS. have, _Of the holy evangelist_.]

[Footnote 17: Others add, _Our Lord be with ye all. Amen_.]

REMARKS ON MR. MOORE'S LIFE OF LORD BYRON, BY LADY BYRON.

"I have disregarded various publications in which facts within my own knowledge have been grossly misrepresented; but I am called upon to notice some of the erroneous statements proceeding from one who claims to be considered as Lord Byron's confidential and authorised friend. Domestic details ought not to be intruded on the public attention: if, however, they _are_ so intruded, the persons affected by them have a right to refute injurious charges. Mr. Moore has promulgated his own impressions of private events in which I was most nearly concerned, as if he possessed a competent knowledge of the subject. Having survived Lord Byron, I feel increased reluctance to advert to any circumstances connected with the period of my marriage; nor is it now my intention to disclose them, further than may be indispensably requisite for the end I have in view. Self-vindication is not the motive which actuates me to make this appeal, and the spirit of accusation is unmingled with it; but when the conduct of my parents is brought forward in a disgraceful light, by the passages selected from Lord Byron's letters, and by the remarks of his biographer, I feel bound to justify their characters from imputations which I _know_ to be false. The passages from Lord Byron's letters, to which I refer, are the aspersion on my mother's character (vol. iii. p. 206. last line):--'My child is very well, and flourishing, I hear; but I must see also. I feel no disposition to resign it to the _contagian of its grandmother's society_.' The assertion of her dishonourable conduct in employing a spy (vol. iii. p. 202. l. 20, &c.), 'A Mrs. C. (now a kind of housekeeper and _spy of Lady N_'s), who, in her better days, was a washerwoman, is supposed to be--by the learned--very much the occult cause of our domestic discrepancies.' The seeming exculpation of myself, in the extract (vol. iii. p. 205.), with the words immediately following it,--'Her nearest relatives are a ----;' where the blank clearly implies something too offensive for publication. These passages tend to throw suspicion on my parents, and give reason to ascribe the separation either to their direct agency, or to that of 'officious spies' employed by them.[1] From the following part of the narrative (vol. iii. p. 198.) it must also be inferred that an undue influence was exercised by them for the accomplishment of this purpose. 'It was in a few weeks after the latter communication between us (Lord Byron and Mr. Moore), that Lady Byron adopted the determination of parting from him. She had left London at the latter end of January, on a visit to her father's house, in Leicestershire, and Lord Byron was in a short time to follow her. They had parted in the utmost kindness,--she wrote him a letter full of playfulness and affection, on the road; and immediately on her arrival at Kirkby Mallory, her father wrote to acquaint Lord Byron that she would return to him no more.' In my observations upon this statement, I shall, as far as possible, avoid touching on any matters relating personally to Lord Byron and myself. The facts are:--I left London for Kirkby Mallory, the residence of my father and mother, on the 15th of January, 1816. Lord Byron had signified to me in writing (Jan. 6th) his absolute desire that I should leave London on the earliest day that I could conveniently fix. It was not safe for me to undertake the fatigue of a journey sooner than the 15th. Previously to my departure, it had been strongly impressed on my mind, that Lord Byron was under the influence of insanity. This opinion was derived in a great measure from the communications made to me by his nearest relatives and personal attendant, who had more opportunities than myself of observing him during the latter part of my stay in town. It was even represented to me that he was in danger of destroying himself. _With the concurrence of his family_, I had consulted Dr. Baillie, as a friend (Jan. 8th), respecting this supposed malady. On acquainting him with the state of the case, and with Lord Byron's desire that I should leave London, Dr. Baillie thought that my absence might be advisable as an experiment, _assuming_ the fact of mental derangement; for Dr. Baillie, not having had access to Lord Byron, could not pronounce a positive opinion on that point. He enjoined, that in correspondence with Lord Byron, I should avoid all but light and soothing topics. Under these impressions, I left London, determined to follow the advice given by Dr. Baillie. Whatever might have been the nature of Lord Byron's conduct towards me from the time of my marriage, yet, supposing him to be in a state of mental alienation, it was not for _me_, nor for any person of common humanity, to manifest, at that moment, a sense of injury. On the day of my departure, and again on my arrival at Kirkby, Jan. 16th, I wrote to Lord Byron in a kind and cheerful tone, according to those medical directions. The last letter was circulated, and employed as a pretext for the charge of my having been subsequently _influenced_ to 'desert[2]' my husband. It has been argued, that I parted from Lord Byron in perfect harmony; that feelings, incompatible with any deep sense of injury, had dictated the letter which I addressed to him; and that my sentiments must have been changed by persuasion and interference, when I was under the roof of my parents. These assertions and inferences are wholly destitute of foundation. When I arrived at Kirkby Mallory, my parents were unacquainted with the existence of any causes likely to destroy my prospects of happiness; and when I communicated to them the opinion which had been formed concerning Lord Byron's state of mind, they were most anxious to promote his restoration by every means in their power. They assured those relations who were with him in London, that 'they would devote their whole care and attention to the alleviation of his malady,' and hoped to make the best arrangements for his comfort, if he could be induced to visit them. With these intentions, my mother wrote on the 17th to Lord Byron, inviting him to Kirkby Mallory. She had always treated him with an affectionate consideration and indulgence, which extended to every little peculiarity of his feelings. Never did an irritating word escape her lips in her whole intercourse with him. The accounts given me after I left Lord Byron by the persons in constant intercourse with him, added to those doubts which had before transiently occurred to my mind, as to the reality of the alleged disease, and the reports of his medical attendant, were far from establishing the existence of any thing like lunacy. Under this uncertainty, I deemed it right to communicate to my parents, that if I were to consider Lord Byron's past conduct as that of a person of sound mind, nothing could induce me to return to him. It therefore appeared expedient, both to them and myself, to consult the ablest advisers. For that object, and also to obtain still further information respecting the appearances which seemed to indicate mental derangement, my mother determined to go to London. She was empowered by me to take legal opinions on a written statement of mine, though I had then reasons for reserving a part of the case from the knowledge even of my father and mother. Being convinced by the result of these enquiries, and by the tenor of Lord Byron's proceedings, that the notion of insanity was an illusion, I no longer hesitated to authorise such measures as were necessary, in order to secure me from being ever again placed in his power. Conformably with this resolution, my father wrote to him on the 2d of February, to propose an amicable separation. Lord Byron at first rejected this proposal; but when it was distinctly notified to him, that if he persisted in his refusal, recourse must be had to legal measures, he agreed to sign a deed of separation. Upon applying to Dr. Lushington, who was intimately acquainted with all the circumstances, to state in writing what he recollected upon this subject, I received from him the following letter, by which it will be manifest that my mother cannot have been actuated by any hostile or ungenerous motives towards Lord Byron.

[Footnote 1: "The officious spies of his privacy," vol. iii. p. 211.]

[Footnote 2: "The deserted husband," vol. iii. p. 212.]

"'My dear Lady Byron,

"'I can rely upon the accuracy of my memory for the following statement. I was originally consulted by Lady Noel on your behalf, whilst you were in the country; the circumstances detailed by her were such as justified a separation, but they were not of that aggravated description as to render such a measure indispensable. On Lady Noel's representation, I deemed a reconciliation with Lord Byron practicable, and felt most sincerely a wish to aid in effecting it. There was not on Lady Noel's part any exaggeration of the facts; nor, so far as I could perceive, any determination to prevent a return to Lord Byron: certainly none was expressed when I spoke of a reconciliation. When you came to town in about a fortnight, or perhaps more, after my first interview with Lady Noel, I was, for the first time, informed by you of facts utterly unknown, as I have no doubt, to Sir Ralph and Lady Noel. On receiving this additional information, my opinion was entirely changed: I considered a reconciliation impossible. I declared my opinion, and added, that if such an idea should be entertained, I could not, either professionally or otherwise, take any part towards effecting it. Believe me, very faithfully yours, STEPH. LUSHINGTON.

"'_Great George-street, Jan_. 31. 1830.'

"I have only to observe, that if the statements on which my legal advisers (the late Sir Samuel Komilly and Dr. Lushington) formed their opinions were false, the responsibility and the odium should rest with _me only_. I trust that the facts which I have here briefly recapitulated will absolve my father and mother from all accusations with regard to the part they took in the separation between Lord Byron and myself. They neither originated, instigated, nor advised, that separation; and they cannot be condemned for having afforded to their daughter the assistance and protection which she claimed. There is no other near relative to vindicate their memory from insult. I am therefore compelled to break the silence which I had hoped always to observe, and to solicit from the readers of Lord Byron's life an impartial consideration of the testimony extorted from me.

"A.I. NOEL BYRON.

"_Hanger Hill, Feb_. 19. 1830."

* * * * *

LETTER OF MR. TURNER.

_Referred to in_ vol. v. p. 129.

"Eight months after the publication of my 'Tour in the Levant,' there appeared in the London Magazine, and subsequently in most of the newspapers, a letter from the late Lord Byron to Mr. Murray.

"I naturally felt anxious at the time to meet a charge of error brought against me in so direct a manner: but I thought, and friends whom I consulted at the time thought with me, that I had better wait for a more favourable opportunity than that afforded by the newspapers of vindicating my opinion, which even so distinguished an authority as the letter of Lord Byron left unshaken, and which, I will venture to add, remains unshaken still.

"I must ever deplore that I resisted my first impulse to reply immediately. The hand of Death has snatched Lord Byron from his kingdom of literature and poetry, and I can only guard myself from the illiberal imputation of attacking the mighty dead, whose living talent I should have trembled to encounter, by scrupulously confining myself to such facts and illustrations as are strictly necessary to save me from the charges of error, misrepresentation, and presumptuousness, of which every writer must wish to prove himself undeserving.

"Lord Byron began by stating, 'The _tide_ was _not_ in our favour,' and added, 'neither I nor any person on board the frigate had any notion of a difference of the current on the Asiatic side; I never heard of it till this moment.' His Lordship had probably forgotten that Strabo distinctly describes the difference in the following words;--

[Greek: 'Dio kai eupetesteron ek tês Sêstou diairousi parallaxamenoi mikron epi ton tês Hêrous purgon, kakeithen aphientes ta ploia sumprattontos tou rhou pros tên peraiôsin: Tois d' ex Abudou peraioumenois parallakteon estin eis tanantia, oktô pou stadious epi purgon tina kat' antikru tês Sêstou, epeita diairein plagion, kai mê teleôs echousin enantion ton rhoun.'--] Ideoque _facilius a Sesto, trajiciunt_ paululum deflexâ navigatione ad Herus turrim, atque inde _navigia dimittentes adjuvante etiam fluxu trajectum_. Qui ab Abydo trajiciunt, in contrarium flectunt partem ad octo stadia ad turrim quandam e regione Sesti: hinc _oblique_ trajiciunt, non _prorsus_ contrario fluxu.'[1]

[Footnote 1: "Strabo, book xiii. Oxford Edition."]

"Here it is clearly asserted, that the current assists the crossing from Sestos, and the words [Greek: 'aphientes ta ploia']--'_navigia dimittentes_,'--'_letting the vessels go of themselves_,' prove how considerable the assistance of the current was; while the words [Greek: 'plagion']--'_oblique_,' and '[Greek: teleôs],'--'_prorsus_,' show distinctly that those who crossed from Abydos were obliged to do so in an _oblique_ direction, or they would have the current _entirely_ against them.

"From this ancient authority, which, I own, appears to me unanswerable, let us turn to the moderns. Baron de Tott, who, having been for some time resident on the spot, employed as an engineer in the construction of batteries, must be supposed well cognisant of the subject, has expressed himself as follows:--

"'La surabondance des eaux que la Mer Noire reçoit, et qu'elle ne peut evaporer, versée dans la Méditerranée par le Bosphore de Thrace et La Propontide, forme aux Dardanelles des courans si violens, que souvent les batimens, toutes voiles dehors, out peine à les vaincre. Les pilotes doivent encore observer, lorsque le vent suffit, de diriger leur route de manière à présenter le moins de résistance possible à l'effort des eaux. On sent que cette étude a pour base la direction des courans, qui, _renvoyés d'une points à l'autre,_ forment des obstacles à la navigation, et feroient courir les plus grands risques si l'on negligeoit ces connoissances hydrographiques.'--_Mémoires de_ TOTT, 3^{_me_} _Partie_.

"To the above citations, I will add the opinion of Tournefort, who, in his description of the strait, expresses with ridicule his disbelief of the truth of Leander's exploit; and to show that the latest travellers agree with the earlier, I will conclude my quotation with a statement of Mr. Madden, who is just returned from the spot. 'It was from the European side Lord Byron swam _with_ the current, which runs about four miles an hour. But I believe he would have found it totally impracticable to have crossed from Abydos to Europe.'--MADDEN'S _Travels_, vol. i.

"There are two other observations in Lord Byron's letter on which I feel it necessary to remark.

"'Mr. Turner says, "Whatever is thrown into the stream on this part of the European bank _must_ arrive at the Asiatic shore." This is so far from being the case, that it _must_ arrive in the Archipelago, if left to the current, although a strong wind from the Asiatic[1] side might have such an effect occasionally.'

[Footnote 1: "This is evidently a mistake of the writer or printer. His Lordship must here have meant a strong wind from the European side, as no wind from the Asiatic side could have the effect of driving an object to the Asiatic shore."

I think it right to remark, that it is Mr. Turner himself who has here originated the inaccuracy of which he accuses others; the words used by Lord Byron being, _not_, as Mr. Turner says, "from the Asiatic side," but "in the Asiatic direction."--T. M.]

"Here Lord Byron is right, and I have no hesitation in confessing that I was wrong. But I was wrong only in the letter of my remark, not in the spirit of it. Any _thing_ thrown into the stream on the European bank would be swept into the Archipelago, because, after arriving so near the Asiatic-shore as to be almost, if not quite, within a man's depth, it would be again floated off from the coast by the current that is dashed from the Asiatic promontory. But this would not affect a swimmer, who, being so near the land, would of course, if he could not actually walk to it, reach it by a slight effort.

"Lord Byron adds, in his P.S. 'The strait is, however, not extraordinarily wide, even where it broadens above and below the forts.' From this statement I must venture to express my dissent, with diffidence indeed, but with diffidence diminished by the ease with which the fact may be established. The strait is widened so considerably above the forts by the Bay of Maytos, and the bay opposite to it on the Asiatic coast, that the distance to be passed by a swimmer in crossing higher up would be, in my poor judgment, too great for any one to accomplish from Asia to Europe, having such a current to stem.

"I conclude by expressing it as my humble opinion that no one is bound to believe in the possibility of Leander's exploit, till the passage has been performed by a swimmer, at least from Asia to Europe. The sceptic is even entitled to exact, as the condition of his belief, that the strait be crossed, as Leander crossed it, both ways within at most fourteen hours.

"W. TURNER."

MR. MILLINGEN'S ACCOUNT OF THE CONSULTATION.

_Referred to in_ vol. vi. p. 209.

As the account given by Mr. Millingen of this consultation differs totally from that of Dr. Bruno, it is fit that the reader should have it in Mr. Millingen's own words:--

"In the morning (18th) a consultation was proposed, to which Dr. Lucca Vega and Dr. Freiber, my assistants, were invited. Dr. Bruno and Lucca proposed having recourse to antispasmodics and other remedies employed in the last stage of typhus. Freiber and I maintained that they could only hasten the fatal termination, that nothing could be more empirical than flying from one extreme to the other; that if, as we all thought, the complaint was owing to the metastasis of rheumatic inflammation, the existing symptoms only depended on the rapid and extensive progress it had made in an organ previously so weakened and irritable. Antiphlogistic means could never prove hurtful in this case; they would become useless only if disorganisation were already operated; but then, since all hopes were gone, what means would not prove superfluous? We recommended the application of numerous leeches to the temples, behind the ears, and along the course of the jugular vein; a large blister between the shoulders, and sinapisms to the feet, as affording, though feeble, yet the last hopes of success. Dr. B., being the patient's physician, had the casting vote, and prepared the antispasmodic potion which Dr. Lucca and he had agreed upon; it was a strong infusion of valerian and ether, &c. After its administration, the convulsive movement, the delirium increased; but, notwithstanding my representations, a second dose was given half an hour after. After articulating confusedly a few broken phrases, the patient sunk shortly after into a comatose sleep, which the next day terminated in death. He expired on the 19th of April, at six o'clock in the afternoon."

THE WILL OF LORD BYRON.

_Extracted from the Registry of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury_.

This is the last will and testament of me, George Gordon, Lord Byron, Baron Byron, of Rochdale, in the county of Lancaster, as follows:--I give and devise all that my manor or lordship of Rochdale, in the said county of Lancaster, with all its rights, royalties, members, and appurtenances, and all my lands, tenements, hereditaments, and premises situate, lying, and being within the parish, manor, or lordship of Rochdale aforesaid, and all other my estates, lands, hereditaments, and premises whatsoever and wheresoever, unto my friends John Cam Hobhouse, late of Trinity College, Cambridge, Esquire, and John Hanson, of Chancery-lane, London, Esquire, to the use and behoof of them, their heirs and assigns, upon trust that they the said John Cam Hobhouse and John Hanson, and the survivor of them, and the heirs and assigns of such survivor, do and shall, as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, sell and dispose of all my said manor and estates for the most money that can or may be had or gotten for the same, either by private contract or public sale by auction, and either together or in lots, as my said trustees shall think proper; and for the facilitating such sale and sales, I do direct that the receipt and receipts of my said trustees, and the survivor of them, and the heirs and assigns of such survivor, shall be a good and sufficient discharge, and good and sufficient discharges to the purchaser or purchasers of my said estates, or any part or parts thereof, for so much money as in such receipt or receipts shall be expressed or acknowledged to be received; and that such purchaser or purchasers, his, her, or their heirs and assigns, shall not afterwards be in any manner answerable or accountable for such purchase-monies, or be obliged to see to the application thereof: And I do will and direct that my said trustees shall stand possessed of the monies to arise by the sale of my said estates upon such trusts and for such intents and purposes as I have hereinafter directed of and concerning the same: And whereas I have by certain deeds of conveyance made on my marriage with my present wife conveyed all my manor and estate of Newstead, in the parishes of Newstead and Limby, in the county of Nottingham, unto trustees, upon trust to sell the same, and apply the sum of sixty thousand pounds, part of the money to arise by such sale; upon the trusts of my marriage settlement: Now I do hereby give and bequeath all the remainder of the purchase-money to arise by sale of my said estate at Newstead, and all the whole of the said sixty thousand pounds, or such part thereof as shall not become vested and payable under the trusts of my said marriage settlement, unto the said John Cam Hobhouse and John Hanson, their executors, administrators, and assigns, upon such trusts and for such ends, intents, and purposes as hereinafter directed of and concerning the residue of my personal estate. I give and bequeath unto the said John Cam Hobhouse and John Hanson, the sum of one thousand pounds each, I give and bequeath all the rest, residue, and remainder of my personal estate whatsoever and wheresoever unto the said John Cam Hobhouse and John Hanson, their executors, administrators, and assigns, upon trust that they, my said trustees and the survivor of them, and the executors and administrators of such survivor, do and shall stand possessed of all such rest and residue of my said personal estate and the money to arise by sale of my real estates hereinbefore devised to them for sale, and such of the monies to arise by sale of my said estate at Newstead as I have power to dispose of, after payment of my debts and legacies hereby given, upon the trusts and for the ends, intents, and purposes hereinafter mentioned and directed of and concerning the same, that is to say, upon trust, that they my said trustees and the survivor of them, and the executors and administrators of such survivor, do and shall lay out and invest the same in the public stocks or funds, or upon government or real security at interest, with power from time to time to change, vary, and transpose such securities, and from time to time during the life of my sister Augusta Mary Leigh, the wife of George Leigh, Esquire, pay, receive, apply, and dispose of the interest, dividends, and annual produce thereof, when and as the same shall become due and payable, into the proper hands of the said Augusta Mary Leigh, to and for her sole and separate use and benefit, free from the control, debts, or engagements of her present or any future husband, or unto such person or persons as she my said sister shall from time to time, by any writing under her hand, notwithstanding her present or any future coverture, and whether covert or sole, direct or appoint; and from and immediately after the decease of my said sister, then upon trust, that they my said trustees and the survivor of them, his executors or administrators, do and shall assign and transfer all my said personal estate and other the trust property hereinbefore mentioned, or the stocks, funds, or securities wherein or upon which the same shall or may be placed out or invested, unto and among all and every the child and children of my said sister, if more than one, in such parts, shares, and proportions, and to become a vested interest, and to be paid and transferred at such time and times, and in such manner, and with, under, and subject to such provisions, conditions, and restrictions, as my said sister, at any time during her life, whether covert or sole, by any deed or deeds, instrument or instruments, in writing, with or without power of revocation, to be sealed and delivered in the presence of two or more credible witnesses, or by her last will and testament in writing, or any writing of appointment in the nature of a will, shall direct or appoint; and in default of any such appointment, or in case of the death of my said sister in my lifetime, then upon trust that they my said trustees and the survivor of them, his executors, administrators, and assigns, do and shall assign and transfer all the trust, property, and funds unto and among the children of my said sister, if more than one, equally to be divided between them, share and share alike, and if only one such child, then to such only child the share and shares of such of them as shall be a son or sons, to be paid and transferred unto him and them when and as he or they shall respectively attain his or their age or ages of twenty-one years; and the share and shares of such of them as shall be a daughter or daughters, to be paid and transferred unto her or them when and as she or they shall respectively attain her or their age or ages of twenty-one years, or be married, which shall first happen; and in case any of such children shall happen to die, being a son or sons, before he or they shall attain the age of twenty-one years, or being a daughter or daughters, before she or they shall attain the said age of twenty-one, or be married; then it is my will and I do direct that the share and shares of such of the said children as shall so die shall go to the survivor or survivors of such children, with the benefit of further accruer in case of the death of any such surviving children before their shares shall become vested. And I do direct that my said trustees shall pay and apply the interest and dividends of each of the said children's shares in the said trust funds for his, her, or their maintenance and education during their minorities, notwithstanding their shares may not become vested interests, but that such interest and dividends as shall not have been so applied shall accumulate, and follow, and go over with the principal. And I do nominate, constitute, and appoint the said John Cam Hobhouse and John Hanson executors of this my will. And I do will and direct that my said trustees shall not be answerable the one of them for the other of them, or for the acts, deeds, receipts, or defaults of the other of them, but each of them for his own acts, deeds, receipts, and wilful defaults only, and that they my said trustees shall be entitled to retain and deduct out of the monies which shall come to their hands under the trusts aforesaid all such costs, charges, damages, and expenses which they or any of them shall bear, pay, sustain, or be put unto, in the execution and performance of the trusts herein reposed in them. I make the above provision for my sister and her children, in consequence of my dear wife Lady Byron, and any children I may have, being otherwise amply provided for; and, lastly, I do revoke all former wills by me at any time heretofore made, and do declare this only to be my last will and testament. In witness whereof, I have to this my last will, contained in three sheets of paper, set my hand to the first two sheets thereof, and to this third and last sheet my hand and seal this 29th day of July, in the year of our Lord 1815.

BYRON (L.S.)

Signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said Lord Byron, the testator, as and for his last will and testament, in the presence of us, who, at his request, in his presence, and in the presence of each other, have hereto subscribed our names as witnesses.

THOMAS JONES MAWSE, EDMUND GRIFFIN, FREDERICK JERVIS, Clerks to Mr. Hanson, Chancery-lane.

CODICIL.--This is a Codicil to the last will and testament of me, the Right Honourable George Gordon, Lord Byron. I give and bequeath unto Allegra Biron, an infant of about twenty months old, by me brought up, and now residing at Venice, the sum of five thousand pounds, which I direct the executors of my said will to pay to her on her attaining the age of twenty-one years, or on the day of her marriage, on condition that she does not marry with a native of Great Britain, which shall first happen. And I direct my said executors, as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, to invest the said sum of five thousand pounds upon government or real security, and to pay and apply the annual income thereof in or towards the maintenance and education of the said Allegra Biron until she attains her said age of twenty-one years, or shall be married as aforesaid; but in case she shall die before attaining the said age and without having been married, then I direct the said sum of five thousand pounds to become part of the residue of my personal estate, and in all other respects I do confirm my said will, and declare this to be a codicil thereto. In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal, at Venice, this 17th day of November, in the year of our Lord 1818,

BYRON (L.S.)

Signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said Lord Byron, as and for a codicil to his will, in the presence of us, who, in his presence, at his request, and in the presence of each other, have subscribed our names as witnesses.

NEWTON HANSON, WILLIAM FLETCHER.

Proved at London (with a Codicil), 6th of July, 1824, before the Worshipful Stephen Lushington, Doctor of Laws, and surrogate, by the oaths of John Cam Hobhouse and John Hanson, Esquires, the executors, to whom administration was granted, having been first sworn duly to administer.

NATHANIEL GOSTLING, GEORGE JENNER, CHARLES DYNELEY, Deputy Registrars.

* * * * *

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES

IN PROSE.

REVIEW OF WORDSWORTH'S POEMS,

2 Vols. 1807.[1]

[Footnote 1: I have been a reviewer. In 1807, in a Magazine called "Monthly Literary Recreations," I reviewed Wordsworth's trash of that time. In the Monthly Review I wrote some articles which were inserted. This was in the latter part of 1811.--BYRON.]

(From "Monthly Literary Recreations," for August, 1807.)

The volumes before us are by the author of Lyrical Ballads, a collection which has not undeservedly met with a considerable share of public applause. The characteristics of Mr. W.'s muse are simple and flowing, though occasionally inharmonious verse, strong, and sometimes irresistible appeals to the feelings, with unexceptionable sentiments. Though the present work may not equal his former efforts, many of the poems possess a native elegance, natural and unaffected, totally devoid of the tinsel embellishments and abstract hyperboles of several contemporary sonneteers. The last sonnet in the first volume, p. 152., is perhaps the best, without any novelty in the sentiments, which we hope are common to every Briton at the present crisis; the force and expression is that of a genuine poet, feeling as he writes:--

"Another year! another deadly blow! Another mighty empire overthrown! And we are left, or shall be left, alone-- The last that dares to struggle with the foe. 'Tis well!--from this day forward we shall know That in ourselves our safety must be sought, That by our own right-hands it must be wrought; That we must stand unprop'd, or be laid low. O dastard! whom such foretaste doth not cheer! We shall exult, if they who rule the land Be men who hold its many blessings dear, Wise, upright, valiant, not a venal band, Who are to judge of danger which they fear, And honour which they do not understand."

The song at the Feast of Brougham Castle, the Seven Sisters, the Affliction of Margaret ---- of ----, possess all the beauties, and few of the defects, of this writer: the following lines from the last are in his first style:--

"Ah! little doth the young one dream When full of play and childish cares, What power hath e'en his wildest scream, Heard by his mother unawares: He knows it not, he cannot guess: Years to a mother bring distress, But do not make her love the less."

The pieces least worthy of the author are those entitled "Moods of my own Mind." We certainly wish these "Moods" had been less frequent, or not permitted to occupy a place near works which only make their deformity more obvious; when Mr. W. ceases to please, it is by "abandoning" his mind to the most commonplace ideas, at the same time clothing them in language not simple, but puerile. What will any reader or auditor, out of the nursery, say to such namby-pamby as "Lines written at the Foot of Brother's Bridge?"

"The cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter. The green field sleeps in the sun; The oldest and youngest, Are at work with the strongest; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising, There are forty feeding like one. Like an army defeated, The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill, On the top of the bare hill."

"The plough-boy is whooping anon, anon," &c. &c. is in the same exquisite measure. This appears to us neither more nor less than an imitation of such minstrelsy as soothed our cries in the cradle, with the shrill ditty of

"Hey de diddle, The cat and the fiddle: The cow jump'd over the moon, The little dog laugh'd to see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon."

On the whole, however, with the exception of the above, and other INNOCENT odes of the same cast, we think these volumes display a genius worthy of higher pursuits, and regret that Mr. W. confines his muse to such trifling subjects. We trust his motto will be in future, "Paulo majora canamus." Many, with inferior abilities, have acquired a loftier seat on Parnassus, merely by attempting strains in which Mr. Wordsworth is more qualified to excel.[1]

[Footnote 1: This first attempt of Lord Byron at reviewing is remarkable only as showing how plausibly he could assume the established tone and phraseology of these minor judgment-seats of criticism. If Mr. Wordsworth ever chanced to cast his eye over this article, how little could he have expected that under that dull prosaic mask lurked one who, in five short years from thence, would rival even _him_ in poetry!--MOORE.]

REVIEW OF GELL'S GEOGRAPHY OF ITHACA, AND ITINERARY OF GREECE.

(From the "Monthly Review" for August, 1811.)

That laudable curiosity concerning the remains of classical antiquity, which has of late years increased among our countrymen, is in no traveller or author more conspicuous than in Mr. Gell. Whatever difference of opinion may yet exist with regard to the success of the several disputants in the famous Trojan controversy[1], or, indeed, relating to the present author's merits as an inspector of the Troad, it must universally be acknowledged that any work, which more forcibly impresses on our imaginations the scenes of heroic action, and the subjects of immortal song, possesses claims on the attention of every scholar.

[Footnote 1: We have it from the best authority that the venerable leader of the Anti-Homeric sect, Jacob Bryant, several years before his death, expressed regret for his ungrateful attempt to destroy some of the most pleasing associations of our youthful studies. One of his last wishes was--"_Trojaque nunc stares," &c._]

Of the two works which now demand our report, we conceive the former to be by far the most interesting to the reader, as the latter is indisputably the most serviceable to the traveller. Excepting, indeed, the running commentary which it contains on a number of extracts from Pausanias and Strabo, it is, as the title imports, a mere itinerary of Greece, or rather of Argolis only, in its present circumstances. This being the case, surely it would have answered every purpose of utility much better by being printed as a pocket road-book of that part of the Morea; for a quarto is a very unmanageable travelling companion. The maps[1] and drawings, we shall be told, would not permit such an arrangement: but as to the drawings, they are not in general to be admired as specimens of the art; and several of them, as we have been assured by eye-witnesses of the scenes which they describe, do not compensate for their mediocrity in point of execution, by any extraordinary fidelity of representation. Others, indeed, are more faithful, according to our informants. The true reason, however, for this costly mode of publication is in course to be found in a desire of gratifying the public passion for large margins, and all the luxury of typography; and we have before expressed our dissatisfaction with Mr. Gell's aristocratical mode of communicating a species of knowledge, which ought to be accessible to a much greater portion of classical students than can at present acquire it by his means:--but, as such expostulations are generally useless, we shall be thankful for what we can obtain, and that in the manner in which Mr. Gell has chosen to present it.

[Footnote 1: Or, rather, _Map_; for we have only one in the volume, and that is on too small a scale to give more than a general idea of the relative position of places. The excuse about a larger map not folding well is trifling; see, for instance, the author's own map of Ithaca.]

The former of these volumes, we have observed, is the most attractive in the closet. It comprehends a very full survey of the far-famed island which the hero of the Odyssey has immortalized; for we really are inclined to think that the author has established the identity of the modern _Theaki_ with the _Ithaca_ of Homer. At all events, if it be an illusion, it is a very agreeable deception, and is effected by an ingenious interpretation of the passages in Homer that are supposed to be descriptive of the scenes which our traveller has visited. We shall extract some of these adaptations of the ancient picture to the modern scene, marking the points of resemblance which appear to be strained and forced, as well as those which are more easy and natural: but we must first insert some preliminary matter from the opening chapter.

The following passage conveys a sort of general sketch of the book, which may give our readers a tolerably adequate notion of its contents:--

"The present work may adduce, by a simple and correct survey of the island, coincidences in its geography, in its natural productions, and moral state, before unnoticed. Some will be directly pointed out; the fancy or ingenuity of the reader may be employed in tracing others; the mind familiar with the imagery of the Odyssey will recognise with satisfaction the scenes themselves; and this volume is offered to the public, not entirely without hopes of vindicating the poem of Homer from the scepticism of those critics who imagine that the Odyssey is a mere poetical composition, unsupported by history, and unconnected with the localities of any particular situation.

"Some have asserted that, in the comparison of places now existing with the descriptions of Homer, we ought not to expect coincidence in minute details; yet it seems only by these that the kingdom of Ulysses, or any other, can be identified, as, if such as idea be admitted, every small and rocky island in the Ionian Sea, containing a good port, might, with equal plausibility, assume the appellation of Ithaca.

"The Venetian geographers have in a great degree contributed to raise those doubts which have existed on the identity of the modern with the ancient Ithaca, by giving, in their charts, the name of Val di Compare to the island. That name is, however, totally unknown in the country, where the isle is invariably called Ithaca by the upper ranks, and Theaki by the vulgar. The Venetians have equally corrupted the name of almost every place in Greece; yet, as the natives of Epactos or Naupactos never heard of Lepanto, those of Zacynthos of Zante, or the Athenians of Settines, it would be as unfair to rob Ithaca of its name, on such authority, as it would be to assert that no such island existed, because no tolerable representation of its form can be found in the Venetian surveys.

"The rare medals of the Island, of which three are represented in the title-page, might be adduced as a proof that the name of Ithaca was not lost during the reigns of the Roman emperors. They have the head of Ulysses, recognised by the pileum, or pointed cap, while the reverse of one presents the figure of a cock, the emblem of his vigilance, with the legend [Greek: ITHAKON]. A few of these medals are preserved in the cabinets of the curious, and one also, with the cock, found in the island, is in the possession of Signor Zavo, of Bathi. The uppermost coin is in the collection of Dr. Hunter; the second is copied from Newman, and the third is the property of R.P. Knight, Esq.

"Several inscriptions, which will be hereafter produced, will tend to the confirmation of the idea that Ithaca was inhabited about the time when the Romans were masters of Greece; yet there is every reason to believe that few, if any, of the present proprietors of the soil are descended from ancestors who had long resided successively in the island. Even those who lived, at the time of Ulysses, in Ithaca, seem to have been on the point of emigrating to Argos, and no chief remained, after the second in descent from that hero, worthy of being recorded in history. It appears that the isle has been twice colonised from Cephalonia in modern times, and I was informed that a grant had been made by the Venetians, entitling each settler in Ithaca to as much land as his circumstances would enable him to cultivate."

Mr. Gell then proceeds to invalidate the authority of previous writers on the subject of Ithaca. Sir George Wheeler and M. le Chevalier fall under his severe animadversion; and, indeed, according to his account, neither of these gentlemen had visited the island, and the description of the latter is "absolutely too absurd for refutation." In another place, he speaks of M. le C. "disgracing a work of such merit by the introduction of such fabrications;" again, of the inaccuracy of the author's maps; and, lastly, of his inserting an island at the southern entry of the Channel between Cephalonia and Ithaca, which has no existence. This observation very nearly approaches to the use of that monosyllable which Gibbon[1], without expressing it, so adroitly applied to some assertion of his antagonist, Mr. Davies. In truth, our traveller's words are rather bitter towards his brother tourist: but we must conclude that their justice warrants their severity.

[Footnote 1: See his Vindication of the 15th and 16th chapters of the _Decline and Fall_, &c.]

In the second chapter, the author describes his landing in Ithaca, and arrival at the rock Korax and the fountain Arethusa, as he designates it with sufficient positiveness.--This rock, now known by the name of Korax, or Koraka Petra, he contends to be the same with that which Homer mentions as contiguous to the habitation of Eumæus, the faithful swine-herd of Ulysses.--We shall take the liberty of adding to our extracts from Mr. Gell some of the passages in Homer to which he _refers_ only, conceiving this to be the fairest method of exhibiting the strength or the weakness of his argument. "Ulysses," he observes, "came to the extremity of the isle to visit Eumusæ, and that extremity was the most southern; for Telemachus, coming from Pylos, touched at the first south-eastern part of Ithaca with the same intention."

[Greek: Kai tote dê r' Odusêa kakos pothen êgage daimôn Agrou ep' eschatiên, hothi domata naie subôtês; Enth' êlthen philos uios Odussêos theioio, Ek Pulou êmathoenios iôn sun nêi melainê; Odussei O.

Autar epên prôtên aktên Ithakês aphikêai, Nêa men es polin otrunai kai panlas hetairous; Autos de prôtisa subôtên eisaphikesthai, k.t.l. Odussei O.]

These citations, we think, appear to justify the author in his attempt to identify the situation of his rock and fountain with the place of those mentioned by Homer. But let us now follow him in the closer description of the scene.--After some account of the subjects in the plate affixed, Mr. Gell remarks: "It is impossible to visit this sequestered spot without being struck with the recollection of the Fount of Arethusa and the Rock Korax, which the poet mentions in the same line, adding, that there the swine eat the _sweet_[1] acorns, and drank the black water."

[Footnote 1: "_Sweet_ acorns." Does Mr. Gell translate from the Latin? To avoid similar cause of mistake, [Greek: menoeikea] should not be rendered _suavem_ but _gratam_, as Barnes has given it.]

[Greek: Dêeis ton ge suessi parêmenon; ai de nemontai Par Korakos petrê, epi te krênê Arethousê, Esthousai balanon menoeikea, kai melan hudôr Pinousai; Odussei N.]

"Having passed some time at the fountain, taken a drawing, and made the necessary observations on the situation of the place, we proceeded to an examination of the precipice, climbing over the terraces above the source, among shady fig-trees, which, however, did not prevent us from feeling the powerful effects of the mid-day sun. After a short but fatiguing ascent, we arrived at the rock, which extends in a vast perpendicular semicircle, beautifully fringed with trees, facing to the southeast. Under the crag we found two caves of inconsiderable extent, the entrance of one of which, not difficult of access, is seen in the view of the fount. They are still the resort of sheep and goats, and in one of them are small natural receptacles for the water, covered by a stalagmitic incrustation.

"These caves, being at the extremity of the curve formed by the precipice, open toward the south, and present us with another accompaniment of the fount of Arethusa, mentioned by the poet, who informs us that the swineherd Eumæus left his guests in the house, whilst he, putting on a thick garment, went to sleep near the herd, under the hollow of the rock, which sheltered him from the northern blast. Now we know that the herd fed near the fount; for Minerva tells Ulysses that he is to go first to Eumæus, whom he should find with the swine, near the rock Korax and the fount of Arethusa. As the swine then fed at the fountain, so it is necessary that a cavern should be found in its vicinity; and this seems to coincide, in distance and situation, with that of the poem. Near the fount also was the fold or stathmos of Eumæus; for the goddess informs Ulysses that he should find his faithful servant at or above the fount.

"Now the hero meets the swineherd close to the fold, which was consequently very near that source. At the top of the rock, and just above the spot where the waterfall shoots down the precipice, is at this day a stagni or pastoral dwelling, which the herdsmen of Ithaca still inhabit, on account of the water necessary for their cattle. One of these people walked on the verge of the precipice at the time of our visit to the place, and seemed so anxious to know how we had been conveyed to the spot, that his enquiries reminded us of a question probably not uncommon in the days of Homer, who more than once represents the Ithacences demanding of strangers what ship had brought them to the island, it being evident they could not come on foot. He told us that there was, on the summit where he stood, a small cistern of water, and a kalybea, or shepherd's hut. There are also vestiges of ancient habitations, and the place is now called Amarâthia.

"Convenience, as well as safety, seems to have pointed out the lofty situation of Amarathia as a fit place for the residence of the herdsmen of this part of the island from the earliest ages. A small source of water is a treasure in these climates; and if the inhabitants of Ithaca now select a rugged and elevated spot, to secure them from the robbers of the Echinades, it is to be recollected that the Taphian pirates were not less formidable, even in the days of Ulysses, and that a residence in a solitary part of the island, far from the fortress, and close to a celebrated fountain, must at all times have been dangerous, without some such security as the rocks of Korax. Indeed, there can be no doubt that the house of Eumæus was on the top of the precipice; for Ulysses, in order to evince the truth of his story to the swineherd, desires to be thrown from the summit if his narration does not prove correct.

"Near the bottom of the precipice is a curious natural gallery, about seven feet high, which is expressed in the plate. It may be fairly presumed, from the very remarkable coincidence between this place and the Homeric account, that this was the scene designated by the poet as the fountain of Arethusa, and the residence of Eumæus; and, perhaps, it would be impossible to find another spot which bears, at this day, so strong a resemblance to a poetic description composed at a period so very remote. There is no other fountain in this part of the island, nor any rock which bears the slightest resemblance to the Korax of Homer.

"The stathmos of the good Eumæus appears to have been little different, either in use or construction, from the stagni and kalybea of the present day. The poet expressly mentions that other herdsmen drove their flocks into the city at sunset,--a custom which still prevails throughout Greece during the winter, and that was the season in which Ulysses visited Eumæus. Yet Homer accounts for this deviation from the prevailing custom, by observing that he had retired from the city to avoid the suitors of Penelope. These trifling occurrences afford a strong presumption that the Ithaca of Homer was something more than the creature of his own fancy, as some have supposed it; for though the grand outline of a fable may be easily imagined, yet the consistent adaptation of minute incidents to a long and elaborate falsehood is a task of the most arduous and complicated nature."

After this long extract, by which we have endeavoured to do justice to Mr. Gell's argument, we cannot allow room for any farther quotations of such extent; and we must offer a brief and imperfect analysis of the remainder of the work.

In the third chapter, the traveller arrives at the capital, and in the fourth, he describes it in an agreeable manner. We select his account of the mode of celebrating a Christian festival in the Greek church:--

"We were present at the celebration of the feast of the Ascension, when the citizens appeared in their gayest dresses, and saluted each other in the streets with demonstrations of pleasure. As we sate at breakfast in the house of Zignor Zavo, we were suddenly roused by the discharge of a gun, succeeded by a tremendous crash of pottery, which fell on the tiles, steps, and pavements, in every direction. The bells of the numerous churches commenced a most discordant jingle; colours were hoisted on every mast in the port, and a general shout of joy announced some great event. Our host informed us that the feast of the Ascension was annually commemorated in this manner at Bathi, the populace exclaiming [Greek: anesê o Chrisos, alêthinos o Theos,] Christ is risen, the true God."

In another passage, he continues this account as follows:--"In the evening of the festival, the inhabitants danced before their houses; and at one we saw the figure which is said to have been first used by the youths and virgins of Delos, at the happy return of Theseus from the expedition of the Cretan Labyrinth. It has now lost much of that intricacy which was supposed to allude to the windings of the habitation of the Minotaur," &c. &c. This is rather too much for even the inflexible gravity of our censorial muscles. When the author talks, with all the _reality_ (if we may use the expression) of a Lempriere, on the stories of the fabulous ages, we cannot refrain from indulging a momentary smile; nor can we seriously accompany him in the learned architectural detail by which he endeavours to give us, from the Odyssey, the ground-plot of the house of Ulysses.--of which he actually offers a plan in drawing! "showing how the description of the house of Ulysses in the Odyssey may be supposed to correspond with the foundations yet visible on the hill of Aito!"--Oh, Foote! Foote! why are you lost to such inviting subjects for your ludicrous pencil!--In his account of this celebrated mansion, Mr. Gell says, one side of the court seems to have been occupied by the Thalamos, or sleeping apartments of the men, &c. &c.; and, in confirmation of this hypothesis, he refers to the 10th Odyssey, line 340. On examining his reference, we read,

[Greek: Es thalamon t ienai, kai sês epibêmenai eunês.]

where Ulysses records an invitation which he received from Circe to take a part of her bed. How this illustrates the above conjecture, we are at a loss to divine: but we suppose that some numerical error has occurred in the reference, as we have detected a trifling mistake or two of the same nature.

Mr. G. labours hard to identify the cave of Dexia near Bathi (the capital of the island), with the grotto of the Nymphs described in the 13th Odyssey. We are disposed to grant that he has succeeded: but we cannot here enter into the proofs by which he supports his opinion; and we can only extract one of the concluding sentences of the chapter, which appears to us candid and judicious:--

"Whatever opinion may be formed as to the identity of the cave of Dexia with the grotto of the Nymphs, it is fair to state, that Strabo positively asserts that no such cave as that described by Homer existed in his time, and that geographer thought it better to assign a physical change, rather than ignorance in Homer, to account for a difference which he imagined to exist between the Ithaca of his time and that of the poet. But Strabo, who was an uncommonly accurate observer with respect to countries surveyed by himself, appears to have been wretchedly misled by his informers on many occasions.

"That Strabo had never visited this country is evident, not only from his inaccurate account of it, but from his citation of Appollodorus and Scepsius, whose relations are in direct opposition to each other on the subject of Ithaca, as will be demonstrated on a future opportunity."

We must, however, observe that "demonstration" is a strong term.--In his description of the Leucadian Promontory (of which we have a pleasing representation in the plate), the author remarks that it is "celebrated for the _leap_ of Sappho, and the _death_ of Artemisia." From this variety in the expression, a reader would hardly conceive that both the ladies perished in the same manner: in fact, the sentence is as proper as it would be to talk of the decapitation of Russell, and the death of Sidney. The view from this promontory includes the island of Corfu; and the name suggests to Mr. Gell the following note, which, though rather irrelevant, is of a curious nature, and we therefore conclude our citations by transcribing it:--

"It has been generally supposed that Corfu, or Corcyra, was the Phæacia of Homer; but Sir Henry Englefield thinks the position of that island inconsistent with the voyage of Ulysses as described in the Odyssey. That gentleman has also observed a number of such remarkable coincidences between the courts of Alcinous and Solomon, that they may be thought curious and interesting. Homer was familiar with the names of Tyre, Sidon, and Egypt; and, as he lived about the time of Solomon, it would not have been extraordinary if he had introduced some account of the magnificence of that prince into his poem. As Solomon was famous for wisdom, so the name of Alcinous signifies strength of knowledge; as the gardens of Solomon were celebrated, so are those of Alcinous (Od. 7.112.); as the kingdom of Solomon was distinguished by twelve tribes under twelve princes (1 Kings, ch. 4.), so that of Alcinous (Od. 8. 390.) was ruled by an equal number; as the throne of Solomon was supported by lions of gold (1 Kings, ch. 10.), so that of Alcinous was placed on dogs of silver and gold (Od, 7. 91.); as the fleets of Solomon were famous, so were those of Alcinous. It is perhaps worthy of remark, that Neptune sate on the mountains of the SOLYMI, as he returned from Æthiopia to Ægæ, while he raised the tempest which threw Ulysses on the coast of Phæacia; and that the Solymi of Pamphylia are very considerably distant from the route.--The suspicious character, also, which Nausicaa attributes to her countryman agrees precisely with that which the Greeks and Romans gave of the Jews."

The seventh chapter contains a description of the Monastery of Kathara, and several adjacent places. The eighth, among other curiosities, fixes on an imaginary site for the Farm of Laertes: but this is the agony of conjecture indeed!--and the ninth chapter mentions another Monastery, and a rock still called the School of Homer. Some sepulchral inscriptions of a very simple nature are included.--The tenth and last chapter brings us round to the Port of Schoenus, near Bathi; after we have completed, seemingly in a very minute and accurate manner, the tour of the island.

We can certainly recommend a perusal of this volume to every lover of classical scene and story. If we may indulge the pleasing belief that Homer sang of a real kingdom, and that Ulysses governed it, though we discern many feeble links in Mr. Gell's chain of evidence, we are on the whole induced to fancy that this is the Ithaca of the bard and of the monarch. At all events, Mr. Gell has enabled every future traveller to form a clearer judgment on the question than he could have established without such a "Vade-mecum to Ithaca," or a "Have with you, to the House of Ulysses," as the present. With Homer in his pocket, and Gell on his sumpter-horse or mule, the Odyssean tourist may now make a very classical and delightful excursion; and we doubt not that the advantages accruing to the Ithacences, from the increased number of travellers who will visit them in consequence of Mr. Gell's account of their country, will induce them to confer on that gentleman any heraldic honours which they may have to bestow, should he ever look in upon them again.--_Baron Bathi _ would be a pretty title:--

"_Hoc_ Ithacus _velit, et magno mercentur Atridæ_."--Virgil.

For ourselves, we confess that all our old Grecian feelings would be alive on approaching the fountain of Melainudros, where, as the tradition runs, or as the priests relate, Homer was restored to sight.

We now come to the "Grecian Patterson," or "Cary," which Mr. Gell has begun to publish; and really he has carried the epic rule of concealing the person of the author to as great a length as either of the above-mentioned heroes of itinerary writ. We hear nothing of his "hair-breadth 'scapes" by sea or land; and we do not even know, for the greater part of his journey through Argolis, whether he relates what he has seen or what he has heard. Prom other parts of the book, we find the former to be the case: but, though there have been tourists and "strangers" in other countries, who have kindly permitted their readers to learn rather too much of their sweet selves, yet it is possible to carry delicacy, or cautious silence, or whatever it may be called, to the contrary extreme. We think that Mr. Gell has fallen into this error, so opposite to that of his numerous brethren. It is offensive, indeed, to be told what a man has eaten for dinner, or how pathetic he was on certain occasions; but we like to know that there is a being yet living who describes the scenes to which he introduces us; and that it is not a mere translation from Strabo or Pausanias which we are reading, or a commentary on those authors. This reflection leads us to the concluding remark in Mr. Gell's preface (by much the most interesting part of his book) to his Itinerary of Greece, in which he thus expresses himself:--

"The confusion of the modern with the ancient names of places in this volume is absolutely unavoidable; they are, however, mentioned in such a manner, that the reader will soon be accustomed to the indiscriminate use of them. The necessity of applying the ancient appellations to the different routes, will be evident from the total ignorance of the public on the subject of the modern names, which, having never appeared in print, are only known to the few individuals who have visited the country.

"What could appear less intelligible to the reader, or less useful to the traveller, than a route from Chione and Zaracca to Kutchukmadi, from thence to Krabata to Schoenochorio, and by the mills of Peali, while every one is in some degree acquainted with the names of Stymphalus, Nemea, Mycenæ, Lyrceia, Lerna, and Tegea?"

Although this may be very true inasmuch as it relates to the reader, yet to the traveller we must observe, in opposition to Mr. Gell, that nothing can be less useful than the designation of his route according to the ancient names. We might as well, and with as much chance of arriving at the place of our destination, talk to a Hounslow post-boy about making haste to _Augusta_, as apply to our Turkish guide in modern Greece for a direction to Stymphalus, Nemea, Mycenæ, &c. &c. This is neither more nor less than classical affectation; and it renders Mr. Gell's book of much more confined use than it would otherwise have been:--but we have some other and more important remarks to make on his general directions to Grecian tourists; and we beg leave to assure our readers that they are derived from travellers who have lately visited Greece. In the first place, Mr. Gell is absolutely incautious enough to recommend an interference on the part of English travellers with the Minister at the Porte, in behalf of the Greeks. "The folly of such neglect (page 16. preface,) in many instances, where the emancipation of a district might often be obtained by the present of a snuff-box or a watch, at Constantinople, _and without the smallest danger of exciting the jealousy of such a court as that of Turkey,_ will be acknowledged when we are no longer able to rectify the error." We have every reason to believe, on the contrary, that the folly of half a dozen travellers, taking this advice, might bring us into a war. "Never interfere with any thing of the kind," is a much sounder and more political suggestion to all English travellers in Greece.

Mr. Gell apologises for the introduction of "his panoramic designs," as he calls them, on the score of the great difficulty of giving any tolerable idea of the face of a country in writing, and the ease with which a very accurate knowledge of it may be acquired by maps and panoramic designs. We are informed that this is not the case with many of these designs. The small scale of the single map we have already censured; and we have hinted that some of the drawings are not remarkable for correct resemblance of their originals. The two nearer views of the Gate of the Lions at Mycenæ are indeed good likenesses of their subject, and the first of them is unusually well executed; but the general view of Mycenæ is not more than tolerable in any respect; and the prospect of Larissa, &c. is barely equal to the former. The view _from_ this last place is also indifferent; and we are positively assured that there are no windows at Nauplia which look like a box of dominos,--the idea suggested by Mr. Gell's plate. We must not, however, be too severe on these picturesque bagatelles, which, probably, were very hasty sketches; and the circumstances of weather, &c. may have occasioned some difference in the appearance of the same objects to different spectators. We shall therefore return to Mr. Gell's preface; endeavouring to set him right in his directions to travellers, where we think that he is erroneous, and adding what appears to have been omitted. In his first sentence, he makes an assertion which is by no means correct. He says, "_We_ are at present as ignorant of Greece, as of the interior of Africa." Surely not quite so ignorant; or several of our Grecian _Mungo Parks_ have travelled in vain, and some very sumptuous works have been published to no purpose! As we proceed, we find the author observing that "Athens is _now_ the most polished city of Greece," when we believe it to be the most barbarous, even to a proverb--

[Greek: O Athêna, protê chora, Ti gaidarous trepheis tora[1]?]

[Footnote 1: We write these lines from the _recitation_ of the travellers to whom we have alluded; but we cannot vouch for the correctness of the Romaic.]

is a couplet of reproach _now_ applied to this once famous city; whose inhabitants seem little worthy of the inspiring call which was addressed to them within these twenty years, by the celebrated Riga:--

[Greek: Deute paides tôn Ellênôn--k.t.l.]

Iannina, the capital of Epirus, and the seat of Ali Pacha's government, _is_ in truth deserving of the honours which Mr. Gell has improperly bestowed on degraded Athens. As to the correctness of the remark concerning the fashion of wearing the hair cropped in _Molossia,_ as Mr. Gell informs us, our authorities cannot depose: but why will he use the classical term of Eleuthero-Lacones, when that people are so much better known by their modern name of Mainotes? "The court of the Pacha of Tripolizza" is said "to realise the splendid visions of the Arabian Nights." This is true with regard to the _court_: but surely the traveller ought to have added that the city and palace are most miserable, and form an extraordinary contrast to the splendour of the court.--Mr. Gell mentions _gold_ mines in Greece: he should have specified their situation, as it certainly is not universally known. When, also, he remarks that "the first article of necessity _in Greece_ is a firman, or order from the Sultan, permitting the traveller to pass unmolested," we are much misinformed if he be right. On the contrary, we believe this to be almost the only part of the Turkish dominions in which a firman is not necessary; since the passport of the Pacha is absolute within his territory (according to Mr. G.'s own admission), and much more effectual than a firman.--"Money," he remarks, "is easily procured at Salonica, or Patrass, where the English have Consuls." It is much better procured, we understand, from the Turkish governors, who never charge discount. The Consuls for the English are not of the most magnanimous order of Greeks, and far from being so liberal, generally speaking; although there are, in course, some exceptions, and Strune of Patrass has been more honourably mentioned.--After having observed that "horses seem the best mode of conveyance in Greece," Mr. Gell proceeds: "Some travellers would prefer an English saddle; but a saddle of this sort is always objected to by the owner of the horse, _and not without reason_" &c. This, we learn, is far from being the case; and, indeed, for a very simple reason, an English saddle must seem to be preferable to one of the country, because it is much lighter. When, too, Mr. Gell calls the _postilion_ "Menzilgi," he mistakes him for his betters: _Serrugees_ are postilions; _Mensilgis_ are postmasters.--Our traveller was fortunate in his Turks, who are hired to walk by the side of the baggage-horses. They "are certain," he says, "of performing their engagement without grumbling." We apprehend that this is by no means certain:--but Mr. Gell is perfectly right in preferring a Turk to a Greek for this purpose; and in his general recommendation to take a Janissary on the tour: who, we may add, should be suffered to act as he pleases, since nothing is to be done by gentle means, or even by offers of money, at the places of accommodation. A courier, to be sent on before to the place at which the traveller intends to sleep, is indispensable to comfort: but no tourist should be misled by the author's advice to suffer the Greeks to gratify their curiosity, in permitting them to remain for some time about him on his arrival at an inn. They should be removed as soon as possible; for, as to the remark that "no stranger would think of intruding when a room is pre-occupied," our informants were not so well convinced of that fact.

Though we have made the above exceptions to the accuracy of Mr. Gell's information, we are most ready to do justice to the general utility of his directions, and can certainly concede the praise which he is desirous of obtaining,--namely, "of having facilitated the researches of future travellers, by affording that local information which it was before impossible to obtain." This book, indeed, is absolutely necessary to any person who wishes to explore the Morea advantageously; and we hope that Mr. Gell will continue his Itinerary over that and over every other part of Greece. He allows that his volume "is only calculated to become a book of reference, and not of general entertainment:" but we do not see any reason against the compatibility of both objects in a survey of the most celebrated country of the ancient world. To that country, we trust, the attention not only of our travellers, but of our legislators, will hereafter be directed. The greatest caution will, indeed, be required, as we have premised, in touching on so delicate a subject as the amelioration of the possessions of an ally: but the field for the exercise of political sagacity is wide and inviting in this portion of the globe; and Mr. Gell, and all other writers who interest us, however remotely, in its extraordinary _capabilities_, deserve well of the British empire. We shall conclude by an extract from the author's work: which, even if it fails of exciting that general interest which we hope most earnestly it may attract, towards its important subject, cannot, as he justly observes, "be entirely uninteresting to the scholar;" since it is a work "which gives him a faithful description of the remains of cities, the very existence of which was doubtful, as they perished before the æra of authentic history." The subjoined quotation is a good specimen of the author's minuteness of research as a topographer; and we trust that the credit which must accrue to him from the present performance will ensure the completion of his Itinerary:--

"The inaccuracies of the maps of Anacharsis are in many respects very glaring. The situation of Phlius is marked by Strabo as surrounded by the territories of Sicyon, Argos, Cleonæ, and Stymphalus. Mr. Hawkins observed, that Phlius, the ruins of which still exist near Agios Giorgios, lies in a direct line between Cleonæ and Stymphalus, and another from Sicyon to Argos; so that Strabo was correct in saying that it lay between those four towns; yet we see Phlius, in the map of Argolis by M. Barbie du Bocage, placed ten miles to the north of Stymphalus, contradicting both history and fact. D'Anville is guilty of the same error.

"M. du Bocage places a town named Phlius, and by him Phlionte, on the point of land which forms the port of Drepano: there are not at present any ruins there. The maps of D'Anville are generally more correct than any others where ancient geography is concerned. A mistake occurs on the subject of Tiryns, and a place named by him Vathia, but of which nothing can be understood. It is possible that Vathi, or the profound valley, may be a name sometimes used for the valley of Barbitsa, and that the place named by D'Anville Claustra may be the outlet of that valley called Kleisoura, which has a corresponding signification.

"The city of Tiryns is also placed in two different positions, once by its Greek name, and again as Tirynthus. The mistake between the islands of Sphæria and Calaura has been noticed in page 135. The Pontinus, which D'Anville represents as a river, and the Erasinus are equally ill placed in his map. There was a place called Creopolis, somewhere toward Cynouria; but its situation is not easily fixed. The ports called Bucephalium and Piræus seem to have been nothing more than little bays in the country between Corinth and Epidaurus. The town called Athenæ, in Cynouria, by Pausanias, is called Anthena by _Thucydides_, book 5. 41.

"In general, the map of D'Anville will be found more accurate than those which have been published since his time; indeed the mistakes of that geographer are in general such as could not be avoided without visiting the country. Two errors of D'Anville may be mentioned, lest the opportunity of publishing the itinerary of Arcadia should never occur. The first is, that the rivers Malætas and Mylaon, near Methydrium, are represented as running toward the south, whereas they flow northwards to the Ladon; and the second is, that the Aroanius, which falls into the Erymanthus at Psophis, is represented as flowing from the lake of Pheneos; a mistake which arises from the ignorance of the ancients themselves who have written on the subject. The fact is that the Ladon receives the waters of the lakes of Orchomenos and Pheneos: but the Aroanius rises at a spot not two hours distant from Psophis."

In furtherance of our principal object in this critique, we have only to add a wish that some of our Grecian tourists, among the fresh articles of information concerning Greece which they have lately imported, would turn their minds to the language of the country. So strikingly similar to the ancient Greek is the modern Romaic as a written language, and so dissimilar in sound, that even a few general rules concerning pronunciation would be of most extensive use.

PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES.

* * * * *

DEBATE ON THE FRAME-WORK BILL, IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS, FEBRUARY 27, 1812.

The order of the day for the second reading of this Bill being read,

Lord BYRON rose, and (for the first time) addressed their Lordships as follows:--

My Lords; the subject now submitted to your Lordships for the first time, though new to the House, is by no means new to the country. I believe it had occupied the serious thoughts of all descriptions of persons, long before its introduction to the notice of that legislature, whose interference alone could be of real service. As a person in some degree connected with the suffering county, though a stranger not only to this House in general, but to almost every individual whose attention I presume to solicit, I must claim some portion of your Lordships' indulgence, whilst I offer a few observations on a question in which I confess myself deeply interested.

To enter into any detail of the riots would be superfluous: the House is already aware that every outrage short of actual bloodshed has been perpetrated, and that the proprietors of the Frames obnoxious to the rioters, and all persons supposed to be connected with them, have been liable to insult and violence. During the short time I recently passed in Nottinghamshire, not twelve hours elapsed without some fresh act of violence; and on the day I left the county I was informed that forty Frames had been broken the preceding evening, as usual, without resistance and without detection.

Such was then the state of that county, and such I have reason to believe it to be at this moment. But whilst these outrages must be admitted to exist to an alarming extent, it cannot be denied that they have arisen from circumstances of the most unparalleled distress: the perseverance of these miserable men in their proceedings, tends to prove that nothing but absolute want could have driven a large, and once honest and industrious, body of the people, into the commission of excesses so hazardous to themselves, their families, and the community. At the time to which I allude, the town and county were burdened with large detachments of the military; the police was in motion, the magistrates assembled, yet all the movements, civil and military, had led to--nothing. Not a single instance had occurred of the apprehension of any real delinquent actually taken in the fact, against whom there existed legal evidence sufficient for conviction. But the police, however useless, were by no means idle: several notorious delinquents had been detected; men, liable to conviction, on the clearest evidence, of the capital crime of poverty; men, who had been nefariously guilty of lawfully begetting several children, whom, thanks to the times! they were unable to maintain. Considerable injury has been done to the proprietors of the improved Frames. These machines were to them an advantage, inasmuch as they superseded the necessity of employing a number of workmen, who were left in consequence to starve. By the adoption of one species of Frame in particular, one man performed the work of many, and the superfluous labourers were thrown out of employment. Yet it is to be observed, that the work thus executed was inferior in quality; not marketable at home, and merely hurried over with a view to exportation. It was called, in the cant of the trade, by the name of "Spider work." The rejected workmen, in the blindness of their ignorance, instead of rejoicing at these improvements in arts so beneficial to mankind, conceived themselves to be sacrificed to improvements in mechanism. In the foolishness of their hearts they imagined, that the maintenance and well doing of the industrious poor, were objects of greater consequence than the enrichment of a few individuals by any improvement, in the implements of trade, which threw the workmen out of employment, and rendered the labourer unworthy of his hire. And it must be confessed that although the adoption of the enlarged machinery in that state of our commerce which the country once boasted, might have been beneficial to the master without being detrimental to the servant; yet, in the present situation of our manufactures, rotting in warehouses, without a prospect of exportation, with the demand for work and workmen equally diminished, Frames of this description tend materially to aggravate the distress and discontent of the disappointed sufferers. But the real cause of these distresses and consequent disturbances lies deeper. When we are told that these men are leagued together not only for the destruction of their own comfort, but of their very means of subsistence, can we forget that it is the bitter policy, the destructive warfare of the last eighteen years, which has destroyed their comfort, your comfort, all men's comfort? That policy, which, originating with "great statesmen now no more," has survived the dead to become a curse on the living, unto the third and fourth generation! These men never destroyed their looms till they were become useless, worse than useless; till they were become actual impediments to their exertions in obtaining their daily bread. Can you, then, wonder that in times like these, when bankruptcy, convicted fraud, and imputed felony, are found in a station not far beneath that of your Lordships, the lowest, though once most useful portion of the people, should forget their duty in their distresses, and become only less guilty than one of their representatives? But while the exalted offender can find means to baffle the law, new capital punishments must be devised, new snares of death must be spread for the wretched mechanic, who is famished into guilt. These men were willing to dig, but the spade was in other hands: they were not ashamed to beg, but there was none to relieve them: their own means of subsistence were cut off, all other employments pre-occupied; and their excesses, however to be deplored and condemned, can hardly be subject of surprise.

It has been stated that the persons in the temporary possession of frames connive at their destruction; if this be proved upon enquiry, it were necessary that such material accessories to the crime should be principles in the punishment. But I did hope, that any measure proposed by his Majesty's government, for your Lordships' decision, would have had conciliation for its basis; or, if that were hopeless, that some previous enquiry, some deliberation would have been deemed requisite; not that we should have been called at once without examination, and without cause, to pass sentences by wholesale, and sign death-warrants blindfold. But, admitting that these men had no cause of complaint; that the grievances of them and their employers were alike groundless; that they deserved the worst; what inefficiency, what imbecility has been evinced in the method chosen to reduce them! Why were the military called out to be made a mockery of, if they were to be called out at all? As far as the difference of seasons would permit, they have merely parodied the summer campaign of Major Sturgeon; and, indeed, the whole proceedings, civil and military, seemed on the model of those of the mayor and corporation of Garratt.--Such marchings and counter-marchings! from Nottingham to Bullwell, from Bullwell to Banford, from Banford to Mansfield! and when at length the detachments arrived at their destination, in all "the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war," they came just in time to witness the mischief which had been done, and ascertain the escape of the perpetrators, to collect the "_spolia opima_" in the fragments of broken frames, and return to their quarters amidst the derision of old women, and the hootings of children. Now, though, in a free country, it were to be wished, that our military should never be too formidable, at least to ourselves, I cannot see the policy of placing them in situations where they can only be made ridiculous. As the sword is the worst argument that can be used, so should it be the last. In this instance it has been the first; but providentially as yet only in the scabbard. The present measure will, indeed, pluck it from the sheath; yet had proper meetings been held in the earlier stages of these riots, had the grievances of these men and their masters (for they also had their grievances) been fairly weighed and justly examined, I do think that means might have been devised to restore these workmen to their avocations, and tranquillity to the county. At present the county suffers from the double infliction of an idle military and a starving population. In what state of apathy have we been plunged so long, that now for the first time the house has been officially apprised of these disturbances? All this has been transacting within 130 miles of London, and yet we, "good easy men, have deemed full sure our greatness was a ripening," and have sat down to enjoy our foreign triumphs in the midst of domestic calamity. But all the cities you have taken, all the armies which have retreated before your leaders, are but paltry subjects of self-congratulation, if your land divides against itself, and your dragoons and your executioners must be let loose against your fellow-citizens.--You call these men a mob, desperate, dangerous, and ignorant; and seem to think that the only way to quiet the "_Bellua multorum capitum_" is to lop off a few of its superfluous heads. But even a mob may be better reduced to reason by a mixture of conciliation and firmness, than by additional irritation and redoubled penalties. Are we aware of our obligations to a mob? It is the mob that labour in your fields and serve in your houses,--that man your navy, and recruit your army,--that have enabled you to defy all the world, and can also defy you when neglect and calamity have driven them to despair! You may call the people a mob; but do not forget, that a mob too often speaks the sentiments of the people. And here I must remark, with what alacrity you are accustomed to fly to the succour of your distressed allies, leaving the distressed of your own country to the care of Providence or--the parish. When the Portuguese suffered under the retreat of the French, every arm was stretched out, every hand was opened, from the rich man's largess to the widow's mite, all was bestowed, to enable them to rebuild their villages and replenish their granaries. And at this moment, when thousands of misguided but most unfortunate fellow-countrymen are struggling with the extremes of hardships and hunger, as your charity began abroad it should end at home. A much less sum, a tithe of the bounty bestowed on Portugal, even if those men (which I cannot admit without enquiry) could not have been restored to their employments, would have rendered unnecessary the tender mercies of the bayonet and the gibbet. But doubtless our friends have too many foreign claims to admit a prospect of domestic relief; though never did such objects demand it. I have traversed the seat of war in the Peninsula, I have been in some of the most oppressed provinces of Turkey, but never under the most despotic of infidel governments did I behold such squalid wretchedness as I have seen since my return in the very heart of a Christian country. And what are your remedies? After months of inaction, and months of action worse than inactivity, at length comes forth the grand specific, the never-failing nostrum of all state physicians, from the days of Draco to the present time. After feeling the pulse and shaking the head over the patient, prescribing the usual course of warm water and bleeding, the warm water of your mawkish police, and the lancets of your military, these convulsions must terminate in death, the sure consummation of the prescriptions of all political Sangrados. Setting aside the palpable injustice and the certain inefficiency of the bill, are there not capital punishments sufficient in your statutes? Is there not blood enough upon your penal code, that more must be poured forth to ascend to Heaven and testify against you? How will you carry the bill into effect? Can you commit a whole county to their own prisons? Will you erect a gibbet in every field, and hang up men like scarecrows? or will you proceed (as you must to bring this measure into effect) by decimation? place the county under martial law? depopulate and lay waste all around you? and restore Sherwood Forest as an acceptable gift to the crown, in its former condition of a royal chase and an asylum for outlaws? Are these the remedies for a starving and desperate populace? Will the famished wretch who has braved your bayonets be appalled by your gibbets? When death is a relief, and the only relief it appears that you will afford him, will he be dragooned into tranquillity? Will that which could not be effected by your grenadiers, be accomplished by your executioners? If you proceed by the forms of law, where is your evidence? Those who have refused to impeach their accomplices, when transportation only was the punishment, will hardly be tempted to witness against them when death is the penalty. With all due deference to the noble lords opposite, I think a little investigation, some previous enquiry would induce even them to change their purpose. That most favourite state measure, so marvellously efficacious in many and recent instances, temporising, would not be without its advantages in this. When a proposal is made to emancipate or relieve, you hesitate, you deliberate for years, you temporise and tamper with the minds of men; but a death-bill must be passed off hand, without a thought of the consequences. Sure I am, from what I have heard, and from what I have seen, that to pass the hill under all the existing circumstances, without enquiry, without deliberation, would only be to add injustice to irritation, and barbarity to neglect. The framers of such a bill must be content to inherit the honours of that Athenian lawgiver whose edicts were said to be written not in ink but in blood. But suppose it past; suppose one of these men, as I have seen them,--meagre with famine, sullen with despair, careless of a life which your Lordships are perhaps about to value at something less than the price of a stocking-frame;--suppose this man surrounded by the children for whom he is unable to procure bread at the hazard of his existence, about to be torn for ever from a family which he lately supported in peaceful industry, and which it is not his fault that he can no longer so support;--suppose this man, and there are ten thousand such from whom you may select your victims, dragged into court, to be tried for this new offence, by this new law; still, there are two things wanting to convict and condemn him; and these are, in my opinion,--twelve butchers for a jury, and a Jefferies for a judge!

DEBATE ON THE EARL OF DONOUGHMORE'S MOTION FOR A COMMITTEE ON THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CLAIMS, APRIL 21. 1812.

Lord BYRON rose and said:--

My Lords,--The question before the House has been so frequently, fully, and ably discussed, and never perhaps more ably than on this night, that it would be difficult to adduce new arguments for or against it. But with each discussion, difficulties have been removed, objections have been canvassed and refuted, and some of the former opponents of Catholic emancipation have at length conceded to the expediency of relieving the petitioners. In conceding thus much, however, a new objection is started; it is not the time, say they, or it is an improper time, or there is time enough yet. In some degree I concur with those who say, it is not the time exactly; that time is passed; better had it been for the country, that the Catholics possessed at this moment their proportion of our privileges, that their nobles held their due weight in our councils, than that we should be assembled to discuss their claims. It had indeed been better--

"Non tempore tali "Cogere concilium cum muros obsidet hostis."

The enemy is without, and distress within. It is too late to cavil on doctrinal points, when we must unite in defence of things more important than the mere ceremonies of religion. It is indeed singular, that we are called together to deliberate, not on the God we adore, for in that we are agreed; not about the king we obey, for to him we are loyal; but how far a difference in the ceremonials of worship, how far believing not too little, but too much (the worst that can be imputed to the Catholics), how far too much devotion to their God may incapacitate our fellow-subjects from effectually serving their king.

Much has been said, within and without doors, of church and state, and although those venerable words have been too often prostituted to the most despicable of party purposes, we cannot hear them too often; all, I presume, are the advocates of church and state,--the church of Christ, and the state of Great Britain; but not a state of exclusion and despotism, not an intolerant church, not a church militant, which renders itself liable to the very objection urged against the Romish communion, and in a greater degree, for the Catholic merely withholds its spiritual benediction (and even that is doubtful), but our church, or rather our churchmen, not only refuse to the Catholic their spiritual grace, but all temporal blessings whatsoever. It was an observation of the great Lord Peterborough, made within these walls, or within the walls where the Lords then assembled, that he was for a "parliamentary king and a parliamentary constitution, but not a parliamentary God and a parliamentary religion." The interval of a century has not weakened the force of the remark. It is indeed time that we should leave off these petty cavils on frivolous points, these Lilliputian sophistries, whether our "eggs are best broken at the broad or narrow end."

The opponents of the Catholics may be divided into two classes; those who assert that the Catholics have too much already, and those who allege that the lower orders, at least, have nothing more to require. We are told by the former, that the Catholics never will be contented: by the latter, that they are already too happy. The last paradox is sufficiently refuted by the present as by all past petitions; it might as well be said, that the negroes did not desire to be emancipated, but this is an unfortunate comparison, for you have already delivered them out of the house of bondage without any petition on their part, but many from their task-masters to a contrary effect; and for myself, when I consider this, I pity the Catholic peasantry for not having the good fortune to be born black. But the Catholics are contented, or at least ought to be, as we are told; I shall, therefore, proceed to touch on a few of those circumstances which so marvellously contribute to their exceeding contentment. They are not allowed the free exercise of their religion in the regular army; the Catholic soldier cannot absent himself from the service of the Protestant clergyman, and unless he is quartered in Ireland, or in Spain, where can he find eligible opportunities of attending his own? The permission of Catholic chaplains to the Irish militia regiments was conceded as a special favour, and not till after years of remonstrance, although an act, passed in 1793, established it as a right. But are the Catholics properly protected in Ireland? Can the church purchase a rood of land whereon to erect a chapel? No! all the places of worship are built on leases of trust or sufferance from the laity, easily broken, and often betrayed. The moment any irregular wish, any casual caprice of the benevolent landlord meets with opposition, the doors are barred against the congregation. This has happened continually, but in no instance more glaringly, than at the town of Newton-Barry, in the county of Wexford. The Catholics enjoying no regular chapel, as a temporary expedient, hired two barns; which, being thrown into one, served for public worship. At this time, there was quartered opposite to the spot an officer whose mind appears to have been deeply imbued with those prejudices which the Protestant petitions now on the table prove to have been fortunately eradicated from the more rational portion of the people; and when the Catholics were assembled on the Sabbath as usual, in peace and good-will towards men, for the worship of their God and yours, they found the chapel door closed, and were told that if they did not immediately retire (and they were told this by a yeoman officer and a magistrate), the riot act should be read, and the assembly dispersed at the point of the bayonet! This was complained of to the middle man of government, the secretary at the castle in 1806, and the answer was (in lieu of redress), that he would cause a letter to be written to the colonel, to prevent, if possible, the recurrence of similar disturbances. Upon this fact, no very great stress need be laid; but it tends to prove that while the Catholic church has not power to purchase land for its chapels to stand upon, the laws for its protection are of no avail. In the mean time, the Catholics are at the mercy of every "pelting petty officer," who may choose to play his "fantastic tricks before high heaven," to insult his God, and injure his fellow-creatures.

Every school-boy, any foot-boy (such have held commissions in our service), any foot-boy who can exchange his shoulder-knot for an epaulette, may perform all this and more against the Catholic by virtue of that very authority delegated to him by his sovereign, for the express purpose of defending his fellow subjects to the last drop of his blood, without discrimination or distinction between Catholic and Protestant.

Have the Irish Catholics the full benefit of trial by jury? They have not; they never can have until they are permitted to share the privilege of serving as sheriffs and under-sheriffs. Of this a striking example occurred at the last Enniskillen assizes. A yeoman was arraigned for the murder of a Catholic named Macvournagh: three respectable, uncontradicted witnesses deposed that they saw the prisoner load, take aim, fire at, and kill the said Macvournagh. This was properly commented on by the judge: but to the astonishment of the bar, and indignation of the court, the Protestant jury acquitted the accused. So glaring was the partiality, that Mr. Justice Osborne felt it his duty to bind over the acquitted, but not absolved assassin, in large recognizances; thus for a time taking away his license to kill Catholics.

Are the very laws passed in their favour observed? They are rendered nugatory in trivial as in serious cases. By a late act, Catholic chaplains are permitted in gaols, but in Fermanagh county the grand jury lately persisted in presenting a suspended clergyman for the office, thereby evading the statute, notwithstanding the most pressing remonstrances of a most respectable magistrate, named Fletcher, to the contrary. Such is law, such is justice, for the happy, free, contented Catholic!

It has been asked, in another place, Why do not the rich Catholics endow foundations for the education of the priesthood? Why do you not permit them to do so? Why are all such bequests subject to the interference, the vexatious, arbitrary, peculating interference of the Orange commissioners for charitable donations?

As to Maynooth college, in no instance, except at the time of its foundation, when a noble Lord (Camden), at the head of the Irish administration, did appear to interest himself in its advancement; and during the government of a noble Duke (Bedford), who, like his ancestors, has ever been the friend of freedom and mankind, and who has not so far adopted the selfish policy of the day as to exclude the Catholics from the number of his fellow-creatures; with these exceptions, in no instance has that institution been properly encouraged. There was indeed a time when the Catholic clergy were conciliated, while the Union was pending, that Union which could not be carried without them, while their assistance was requisite in procuring addresses from the Catholic counties; then they were cajoled and caressed, feared and flattered, and given to understand that "the Union would do every thing;" but the moment it was passed, they were driven back with contempt into their former obscurity.

In the conduct pursued towards Maynooth college, every thing is done to irritate and perplex--every thing is done to efface the slightest impression of gratitude from the Catholic mind; the very hay made upon the lawn, the fat and tallow of the beef and mutton allowed, must be paid for and accounted upon oath. It is true, this economy in miniature cannot sufficiently be commended, particularly at a time when only the insect defaulters of the Treasury, your Hunts and your Chinnerys, when only those "gilded bugs" can escape the microscopic eye of ministers. But when you come forward, session after session, as your paltry pittance is wrung from you with wrangling and reluctance, to boast of your liberality, well might the Catholic exclaim, in the words of Prior:--

"To John I owe some obligation, But John unluckily thinks fit To publish it to all the nation, So John and I are more than quit."

Some persons have compared the Catholics to the beggar in Gil Bias: who made them beggars? Who are enriched with the spoils of their ancestors? And cannot you relieve the beggar when your fathers have made him such? If you are disposed to relieve him at all, cannot you do it without flinging your farthings in his face? As a contrast, however, to this beggarly benevolence, let us look at the Protestant Charter Schools; to them you have lately granted 41,000_l_.: thus are they supported, and how are they recruited? Montesquieu observes on the English constitution, that the model may be found in Tacitus, where the historian describes the policy of the Germans, and adds, "This beautiful system was taken from the woods;" so in speaking of the charter schools, it may be observed, that this beautiful system was taken from the gipsies. These schools are recruited in the same manner as the Janissaries at the time of their enrolment under Amurath, and the gipsies of the present day with stolen children, with children decoyed and kidnapped from their Catholic connections by their rich and powerful Protestant neighbours: this is notorious, and one instance may suffice to show in what manner:--The sister of a Mr. Carthy (a Catholic gentleman of very considerable property) died, leaving two girls, who were immediately marked out as proselytes, and conveyed to the charter school of Coolgreny; their uncle, on being apprised of the fact, which took place during his absence, applied for the restitution of his nieces, offering to settle an independence on these his relations; his request was refused, and not till after five years' struggle, and the interference of very high authority, could this Catholic gentleman obtain back his nearest of kindred from a charity charter school. In this manner are proselytes obtained, and mingled with the offspring of such Protestants as may avail themselves of the institution. And how are they taught? A catechism is put into their hands, consisting of, I believe, forty-five pages, in which are three questions relative to the Protestant religion; one of these queries is, "Where was the Protestant religion before Luther?"

Answer, "In the Gospel." The remaining forty-four pages and a half regard the damnable idolatry of Papists!

Allow me to ask our spiritual pastors and masters, is this training up a child in the way which he should go? Is this the religion of the Gospel before the time of Luther? that religion which preaches "Peace on earth, and glory to God?" Is it bringing up infants to be men or devils? Better would it be to send them any where than teach them such doctrines; better send them to those islands in the South Seas, where they might more humanely learn to become cannibals; it would be less disgusting that they were brought up to devour the dead, than persecute the living. Schools do you call them? call them rather dunghills, where the viper of intolerance deposits her young, that when their teeth are cut and their poison is mature, they may issue forth, filthy and venomous, to sting the Catholic. But are these the doctrines of the Church of England, or of churchmen? No, the most enlightened churchmen are of a different opinion. What says Paley? "I perceive no reason why men of different religious persuasions should not sit upon the same bench, deliberate in the same council, or fight in the same ranks, as well as men of various religious opinions, upon any controverted topic of natural history, philosophy, or ethics." It may be answered, that Paley was not strictly orthodox; I know nothing of his orthodoxy, but who will deny that he was an ornament to the church, to human nature, to Christianity?

I shall not dwell upon the grievance of tithes, so severely felt by the peasantry, but it may be proper to observe, that there is an addition to the burden, a per centage to the gatherer, whose interest it thus becomes to rate them as highly as possible, and we know that in many large livings in Ireland the only resident Protestants are the tithe proctor and his family.

Amongst many causes of irritation, too numerous for recapitulation, there is one in the militia not to be passed over,--I mean the existence of Orange lodges amongst the privates. Can the officers deny this? And if such lodges do exist, do they, can they, tend to promote harmony amongst the men, who are thus individually separated in society, although mingled in the ranks? And is this general system of persecution to be permitted; or is it to be believed that with such a system the Catholics can or ought to be contented? If they are, they belie human nature; they are then, indeed, unworthy to be any thing but the slaves you have made them. The facts stated are from most respectable authority, or I should not have dared in this place, or any place, to hazard this avowal. If exaggerated, there are plenty as willing, as I believe them to be unable, to disprove them. Should it be objected that I never was in Ireland, I beg leave to observe, that it is as easy to know something of Ireland without having been there, as it appears with some to have been born, bred, and cherished there, and yet remain ignorant of its best interests.

But there are who assert that the Catholics have already been too much indulged. See (cry they) what has been done: we have given them one entire college, we allow them food and raiment, the full enjoyment of the elements, and leave to fight for us as long as they have limbs and lives to offer, and yet they are never to be satisfied!--Generous and just declaimers! To this, and to this only, amount the whole of your arguments, when stript of their sophistry. Those personages remind me of a story of a certain drummer, who, being called upon in the course of duty to administer punishment to a friend tied to the halberts, was requested to flog high, he did--to flog low, he did--to flog in the middle, he did,--high, low, down the middle, and up again, but all in vain; the patient continued his complaints with the most provoking pertinacity, until the drummer, exhausted and angry, flung down his scourge, exclaiming, "The devil burn you, there's no pleasing you, flog where one will!" Thus it is, you have flogged the Catholic high, low, here, there, and every where, and then you wonder he is not pleased. It is true that time, experience, and that weariness which attends even the exercise of barbarity, have taught you to flog a little more gently; but still you continue to lay on the lash, and will so continue, till perhaps the rod may be wrested from your hands, and applied to the backs of yourselves and your posterity.

It was said by somebody in a former debate, (I forget by whom, and am not very anxious to remember,) if the Catholics are emancipated, why not the Jews? If this sentiment was dictated by compassion for the Jews, it might deserve attention, but as a sneer against the Catholic, what is it but the language of Shylock transferred from his daughter's marriage to Catholic emancipation--

"Would any of the tribe of Barabbas Should have it rather than a Christian."

I presume a Catholic is a Christian, even in the opinion of him whose taste only can be called in question for his preference of the Jews.

It is a remark often quoted of Dr. Johnson, (whom I take to be almost as good authority as the gentle apostle of intolerance, Dr. Duigenan,) that he who could entertain serious apprehensions of danger to the church in these times, would have "cried fire in the deluge." This is more than a metaphor; for a remnant of these antediluvians appear actually to have come down to us, with fire in their mouths and water in their brains, to disturb and perplex mankind with their whimsical outcries. And as it is an infallible symptom of that distressing malady with which I conceive them to be afflicted (so any doctor will inform your Lordships), for the unhappy invalids to perceive a flame perpetually flashing before their eyes, particularly when their eyes are shut (as those of the persons to whom I allude have long been), it is impossible to convince these poor creatures, that the fire against which they are perpetually warning us and themselves is nothing but an _ignis fatuus_ of their own drivelling imaginations. What rhubarb, senna, or "what purgative drug can scour that fancy thence?"--It is impossible, they are given over, theirs is the true

"Caput insanabile tribus Anticyris."

These are your true Protestants. Like Bayle, who protested against all sects whatsoever, so do they protest against Catholic petitions, Protestant petitions, all redress, all that reason, humanity, policy, justice, and common sense, can urge against the delusions of their absurd delirium. These are the persons who reverse the fable of the mountain that brought forth a mouse; they are the mice who conceive themselves in labour with mountains.

To return to the Catholics; suppose the Irish were actually contented under their disabilities; suppose them capable of such a bull as not to desire deliverance, ought we not to wish it for ourselves? Have we nothing to gain by their emancipation? What resources have been wasted? What talents have been lost by the selfish system of exclusion? You already know the value of Irish aid; at this moment the defence of England is intrusted to the Irish militia; at this moment, while the starving people are rising in the fierceness of despair, the Irish are faithful to their trust. But till equal energy is imparted throughout by the extension of freedom, you cannot enjoy the full benefit of the strength which you are glad to interpose between you and destruction. Ireland has done much, but will do more. At this moment the only triumph obtained through long years of continental disaster has been achieved by an Irish general: it is true he is not a Catholic; had he been so, we should have been deprived of his exertions: but I presume no one will assert that his religion would have impaired his talents or diminished his patriotism; though, in that case, he must have conquered in the ranks, for he never could have commanded an army.

But he is fighting the battles of the Catholics abroad; his noble brother has this night advocated their cause, with an eloquence which I shall not depreciate by the humble tribute of my panegyric; whilst a third of his kindred, as unlike as unequal, has been combating against his Catholic brethren in Dublin, with circular letters, edicts, proclamations, arrests, and dispersions;--all the vexatious implements of petty warfare that could be wielded by the mercenary guerillas of government, clad in the rusty armour of their obsolete statutes. Your Lordships will, doubtless, divide new honours between the Saviour of Portugal, and the Dispenser of Delegates. It is singular, indeed, to observe the difference between our foreign and domestic policy; if Catholic Spain, faithful Portugal, or the no less Catholic and faithful king of the one Sicily, (of which, by the by, you have lately deprived him,) stand in need of succour, away goes a fleet and an army, an ambassador and a subsidy, sometimes to fight pretty hardly, generally to negotiate very badly, and always to pay very dearly for our Popish allies. But let four millions of fellow-subjects pray for relief, who fight and pay and labour in your behalf, they must be treated as aliens; and although their "father's house has many mansions," there is no resting-place for them. Allow me to ask, are you not fighting for the emancipation of Ferdinand VII., who certainly is a fool, and, consequently, in all probability a bigot? and have you more regard for a foreign sovereign than your own fellow-subjects, who are not fools, for they know your interest better than you know your own; who are not bigots, for they return you good for evil; but who are in worse durance than the prison of a usurper, inasmuch as the fetters of the mind are more galling than those of the body?

Upon the consequences of your not acceding to the claims of the petitioners, I shall not expatiate; you know them, you will feel them, and your children's children when you are passed away. Adieu to that Union so called, as "_Lucus a non lucendo_," a Union from never uniting, which in its first operation gave a death-blow to the independence of Ireland, and in its last may be the cause of her eternal separation from this country. If it must be called a Union, it is the union of the shark with his prey; the spoiler swallows up his victim, and thus they become one and indivisible. Thus has Great Britain swallowed up the parliament, the constitution, the independence of Ireland, and refuses to disgorge even a single privilege, although for the relief of her swollen and distempered body politic.

And now, my Lords, before I sit down, will his Majesty's ministers permit me to say a few words, not on their merits, for that would be superfluous, but on the degree of estimation in which they are held by the people of these realms? The esteem in which they are held has been boasted of in a triumphant tone on a late occasion within these walls, and a comparison instituted between their conduct and that of noble lords on this side of the House.

What portion of popularity may have fallen to the share of my noble friends (if such I may presume to call them), I shall not pretend to ascertain; but that of his Majesty's ministers it were vain to deny. It is, to be sure, a little like the wind, "no one knows whence it cometh or whither it goeth," but they feel it, they enjoy it, they boast of it. Indeed, modest and unostentatious as they are, to what part of the kingdom, even the most remote, can they flee to avoid the triumph which pursues them? If they plunge into the midland counties, there will they be greeted by the manufacturers, with spurned petitions in their hands, and those halters round their necks recently voted in their behalf, imploring blessings on the heads of those who so simply, yet ingeniously, contrived to remove them from their miseries in this to a better world. If they journey on to Scotland, from Glasgow to Johnny Groats, every where will they receive similar marks of approbation. If they take a trip from Portpatrick to Donaghadee, there will they rush at once into the embraces of four Catholic millions, to whom their vote of this night is about to endear them for ever. When they return to the metropolis, if they can pass under Temple Bar without unpleasant sensations at the sight of the greedy niches over that ominous gateway, they cannot escape the acclamations of the livery, and the more tremulous, but not less sincere, applause, the blessings, "not loud but deep," of bankrupt merchants and doubting stock-holders. If they look to the army, what wreaths, not of laurel, but of nightshade, are preparing for the heroes of Walcheren. It is true, there are few living deponents left to testify to their merits on that occasion; but a "cloud of witnesses" are gone above from that gallant army which they so generously and piously despatched, to recruit the "noble army of martyrs."

What if in the course of this triumphal career (in which they will gather as many pebbles as Caligula's army did on a similar triumph, the prototype of their own,) they do not perceive any of those memorials which a grateful people erect in honour of their benefactors; what although not even a sign-post will condescend to depose the Saracen's head in favour of the likeness of the conquerors of Walcheren, they will not want a picture who can always have a caricature; or regret the omission of a statue who will so often see themselves exalted in effigy. But their popularity is not limited to the narrow bounds of an island; there are other countries where their measures, and above all, their conduct to the Catholics, must render them preeminently popular. If they are beloved here, in France they must be adored. There is no measure more repugnant to the designs and feelings of Bonaparte than Catholic emancipation; no line of conduct more propitious to his projects, than that which has been pursued, is pursuing, and, I fear, will be pursued, towards Ireland. What is England without Ireland, and what is Ireland without the Catholics? It is on the basis of your tyranny Napoleon hopes to build his own. So grateful must oppression of the Catholics be to his mind, that doubtless (as he has lately permitted some renewal of intercourse) the next cartel will convey to this country cargoes of seve-china and blue ribands, (things in great request, and of equal value at this moment,) blue ribands of the Legion of Honour for Dr. Duigenan and his ministerial disciples. Such is that well-earned popularity, the result of those extraordinary expeditions, so expensive to ourselves, and so useless to our allies; of those singular enquiries, so exculpatory to the accused and so dissatisfactory to the people; of those paradoxical victories, so honourable, as we are told, to the British name, and so destructive to the best interests of the British nation: above all, such is the reward of a conduct pursued by ministers towards the Catholics.

I have to apologise to the House, who will, I trust, pardon one, not often in the habit of intruding upon their indulgence, for so long attempting to engage their attention. My most decided opinion is, as my vote will be, in favour of the motion.

* * * * *

DEBATE ON MAJOR CARTWRIGHT'S PETITION, JUNE 1. 1813.

Lord BYRON rose and said:--

My Lords,--The petition which I now hold for the purpose of presenting to the House, is one which I humbly conceive requires the particular attention of your Lordships, inasmuch as, though signed but by a single individual, it contains statements which (if not disproved) demand most serious investigation. The grievance of which the petitioner complains is neither selfish nor imaginary. It is not his own only, for it has been, and is still felt by numbers. No one without these walls, nor indeed within, but may to-morrow be made liable to the same insult and obstruction, in the discharge of an imperious duty for the restoration of the true constitution of these realms, by petitioning for reform in parliament. The petitioner, my Lords, is a man whose long life has been spent in one unceasing struggle for the liberty of the subject, against that undue influence which has increased, is increasing, and ought to be diminished; and whatever difference of opinion may exist as to his political tenets, few will be found to question the integrity of his intentions. Even now oppressed with years, and not exempt from the infirmities attendant on his age, but still unimpaired in talent, and unshaken in spirit--"_frangas non fleetes_"--he has received many a wound in the combat against corruption; and the new grievance, the fresh insult of which he complains, may inflict another scar, but no dishonour. The petition is signed by John Cartwright, and it was in behalf of the people and parliament, in the lawful pursuit of that reform in the representation, which is the best service to be rendered both to parliament and people, that he encountered the wanton outrage which forms the subject-matter of his petition to your Lordships. It is couched in firm, yet respectful language--in the language of a man, not regardless of what is due to himself, but at the same time, I trust, equally mindful of the deference to be paid to this House. The petitioner states, amongst other matter of equal, if not greater importance, to all who are British in their feelings, as well as blood and birth, that on the 21st January, 1813, at Huddersfield, himself and six other persons, who, on hearing of his arrival, had waited on him merely as a testimony of respect, were seized by a military and civil force, and kept in close custody for several hours, subjected to gross and abusive insinuation from the commanding officer, relative to the character of the petitioner; that he (the petitioner) was finally carried before a magistrate, and not released till an examination of his papers proved that there was not only no just, but not even statutable charge against him; and that, notwithstanding the promise and order from the presiding magistrates of a copy of the warrant against your petitioner, it was afterwards withheld on divers pretexts, and has never until this hour been granted. The names and condition of the parties will be found in the petition. To the other topics touched upon in the petition, I shall not now advert, from a wish not to encroach upon the time of the House; but I do most sincerely call the attention of your Lordships to its general contents--it is in the cause of the parliament and people that the rights of this venerable freeman have been violated, and it is, in my opinion, the highest mark of respect that could be paid to the House, that to your justice, rather than by appeal to any inferior court, he now commits, himself. Whatever may be the fate of his remonstrance, it is some satisfaction to me, though mixed with regret for the occasion, that I have this opportunity of publicly stating the obstruction to which the subject is liable, in the prosecution of the most lawful and imperious of his duties, the obtaining by petition reform in parliament. I have shortly stated his complaint; the petitioner has more fully expressed it. Your Lordships will, I hope, adopt some measure fully to protect and redress him, and not him alone, but the whole body of the people, insulted and aggrieved in his person, by the interposition of an abused civil, and unlawful military force between them and their right of petition to their own representatives.

His Lordship then presented the petition from Major Cartwright, which was read, complaining of the circumstances at Huddersfield, and of interruptions given to the right of petitioning in several places in the northern parts of the kingdom, and which his Lordship moved should be laid on the table.

Several lords having spoken on the question,

Lord Byron replied, that he had, from motives of duty, presented this petition to their Lordships' consideration. The noble Earl had contended, that it was not a petition, but a speech; and that, as it contained no prayer, it should not be received. What was the necessity of a prayer? If that word were to be used in its proper sense, their Lordships could not expect that any man should pray to others. He had only to say, that the petition, though in some parts expressed strongly perhaps, did not contain any improper mode of address, but was couched in respectful language towards their Lordships; he should therefore trust their Lordships would allow the petition to be received.

A FRAGMENT.[1]

[Footnote 1: During a week of rain at Diodati, in the summer of 1816, the party having amused themselves with reading German ghost stories, they agreed at last to write something in imitation of them. "You and I," said Lord Byron to Mrs. Shelley, "will publish ours together." He then began his tale of the Vampire; and, having the whole arranged in his head, repeated to them a sketch of the story one evening;--but, from the narrative being in prose, made but little progress in filling up his outline. The most memorable result, indeed, of their storytelling compact, was Mrs. Shelley's wild and powerful romance of Frankenstein.--MOORE.

"I began it," says Lord Byron, "in an old account book of Miss Milbanke's, which I kept because it contains the word 'Household,' written by her twice on the inside blank page of the covers; being the only two scraps I have in the world in her writing, except her name to the Deed of Separation."]

_June_ 17. 1816.

In the year 17--, having for some time determined on a journey through countries not hitherto much frequented by travellers, I set out, accompanied by a friend, whom I shall designate by the name of Augustus Darvell. He was a few years my elder, and a man of considerable fortune and ancient family; advantages which an extensive capacity prevented him alike from undervaluing or overrating. Some peculiar circumstances in his private history had rendered him to me an object of attention, of interest, and even of regard, which neither the reserve of his manners, nor occasional indications of an inquietude at times nearly approaching to alienation of mind, could extinguish.

I was yet young in life, which I had begun early; but my intimacy with him was of a recent date: we had been educated at the same schools and university; but his progress through these had preceded mine, and he had been deeply initiated, into what is called the world, while I was yet in my noviciate. While thus engaged, I heard much both of his past and present life; and, although in these accounts there were many and irreconcileable contradictions, I could still gather from the whole that he was a being of no common order, and one who, whatever pains he might take to avoid remark, would still be remarkable. I had cultivated his acquaintance subsequently, and endeavoured to obtain his friendship, but this last appeared to be unattainable; whatever affections he might have possessed, seemed now, some to have been extinguished, and others to be concentred: that his feelings were acute, I had sufficient opportunities of observing; for, although he could control, he could not altogether disguise them: still he had a power of giving to one passion the appearance of another, in such a manner that it was difficult to define the nature of what was working within him; and the expressions of his features would vary so rapidly, though slightly, that it was useless to trace them to their sources. It was evident that he was a prey to some cureless disquiet; but whether it arose from ambition, love, remorse, grief, from one or all of these, or merely from a morbid temperament akin to disease, I could not discover: there were circumstances alleged, which might have justified the application to each of these causes; but, as I have before said, these were so contradictory and contradicted, that none could be fixed upon with accuracy. Where there is mystery, it is generally supposed that there must also be evil: I know not how this may be, but in him there certainly was the one, though I could not ascertain the extent of the other--and felt loth, as far as regarded himself, to believe in its existence. My advances were received with sufficient coldness; but I was young, and not easily discouraged, and at length succeeded in obtaining, to a certain degree, that common-place intercourse and moderate confidence of common and every-day concerns, created and cemented by similarity of pursuit and frequency of meeting, which is called intimacy, or friendship, according to the ideas of him who uses those words to express them.

Darvell had already travelled extensively; and to him I had applied for information with regard to the conduct of my intended journey. It was my secret wish that he might be prevailed on to accompany me; it was also a probable hope, founded upon the shadowy restlessness which I observed in him, and to which the animation which he appeared to feel on such subjects, and his apparent indifference to all by which he was more immediately surrounded, gave fresh strength. This wish I first hinted, and then expressed: his answer, though I had partly expected it, gave me all the pleasure of surprise--he consented; and, after the requisite arrangement, we commenced our voyages. After journeying through various countries of the south of Europe, our attention was turned towards the East, according to our original destination; and it was in my progress through those regions that the incident occurred upon which will turn what I may have to relate.

The constitution of Darvell, which must from his appearance have been in early life more than usually robust, had been for some time gradually giving way, without the intervention of any apparent disease: he had neither cough nor hectic, yet he became daily more enfeebled: his habits were temperate, and he neither declined nor complained of fatigue; yet he was evidently wasting away: he became more and more silent and sleepless, and at length so seriously altered, that my alarm grew proportionate to what I conceived to be his danger.

We had determined, on our arrival at Smyrna, on an excursion to the ruins of Ephesus and Sardis, from which I endeavoured to dissuade him in his present state of indisposition--but in vain: there appeared to be an oppression on his mind, and a solemnity in his manner, which ill corresponded with his eagerness to proceed on what I regarded as a mere party of pleasure, little suited to a valetudinarian; but I opposed him no longer--and in a few days we set off together, accompanied only by a serrugee and a single janizary.

We had passed halfway towards the remains of Ephesus, leaving behind us the more fertile environs of Smyrna, and were entering upon that wild and tenantless track through the marshes and defiles which lead to the few huts yet lingering over the broken columns of Diana--the roofless walls of expelled Christianity, and the still more recent but complete desolation of abandoned mosques--when the sudden and rapid illness of my companion obliged us to halt at a Turkish cemetery, the turbaned tombstones of which were the sole indication that human life had ever been a sojourner in this wilderness. The only caravansera we had seen was left some hours behind us, not a vestige of a town or even cottage was within sight or hope, and this "city of the dead" appeared to be the sole refuge for my unfortunate friend, who seemed on the verge of becoming the last of its inhabitants.

In this situation, I looked round for a place where he might most conveniently repose:--contrary to the usual aspect of Mahometan burial-grounds, the cypresses were in this few in number, and these thinly scattered over its extent: the tombstones were mostly fallen, and worn with age:--upon one of the most considerable of these, and beneath one of the most spreading trees, Darvell supported himself, in a half-reclining posture, with great difficulty. He asked for water. I had some doubts of our being able to find any, and prepared to go in search of it with hesitating despondency: but he desired me to remain; and turning to Suleiman, our janizary, who stood by us smoking with great tranquillity, he said, "Suleiman, verbana su," (_i.e._ bring some water,) and went on describing the spot where it was to be found with great minuteness, at a small well for camels, a few hundred yards to the right: the janizary obeyed. I said to Darvell, "How did you know this?"--He replied, "From our situation; you must perceive that this place was once inhabited, and could not have been so without springs: I have also been here before."

"You have been here before!--How came you never to mention this to me? and what could you be doing in a place where no one would remain a moment longer than they could help it?"

To this question I received no answer. In the mean time Suleiman returned with the water, leaving the serrugee and the horses at the fountain. The quenching of his thirst had the appearance of reviving him for a moment; and I conceived hopes of his being able to proceed, or at least to return, and I urged the attempt. He was silent--and appeared to be collecting his spirits for an effort to speak. He began.

"This is the end of my journey, and of my life;--I came here to die: but I have a request to make, a command--for such my last words must be.--You will observe it?"

"Most certainly; but have better hopes."

"I have no hopes, nor wishes, but this--conceal my death from every human being."

"I hope there will be no occasion; that you will recover, and----"

"Peace!--it must be so: promise this."

"I do."

"Swear it, by all that"----He here dictated an oath of great solemnity.

"There is no occasion for this--I will observe your request; and to doubt me is----"

"It cannot be helped,--you must swear."

I took the oath: it appeared to relieve him. He removed a seal ring from his finger, on which were some Arabic characters, and presented it to me. He proceeded--

"On the ninth day of the month, at noon precisely (what month you please, but this must be the day), you must fling this ring into the salt springs which run into the Bay of Eleusis: the day after, at the same hour, you must repair to the ruins of the temple of Ceres, and wait one hour."

"Why?"

"You will see."

"The ninth day of the month, you say?"

"The ninth."

As I observed that the present was the ninth day of the month; his countenance changed, and he paused. As he sat, evidently becoming more feeble, a stork, with a snake in her beak, perched upon a tombstone near us; and, without devouring her prey, appeared to be steadfastly regarding us. I know not what impelled me to drive it away, but the attempt was useless; she made a few circles in the air, and returned exactly to the same spot. Darvell pointed to it, and smiled: he spoke--I know not whether to himself or to me--but the words were only, "'Tis well!"

"What is well? what do you mean?"

"No matter: you must bury me here this evening, and exactly where that bird is now perched. You know the rest of my injunctions."

He then proceeded to give me several directions as to the manner in which his death might be best concealed. After these were finished, he exclaimed, "You perceive that bird?"

"Certainly."

"And the serpent writhing in her beak?"

"Doubtless: there is nothing uncommon in it; it is her natural prey. But it is odd that she does not devour it."

He smiled in a ghastly manner, and said, faintly, "It is not yet time!" As he spoke, the stork flew away. My eyes followed it for a moment--it could hardly be longer than ten might be counted. I felt Darvell's weight, as it were, increase upon my shoulder, and, turning to look upon his face, perceived that he was dead!

I was shocked with the sudden certainty which could not be mistaken--his countenance in a few minutes became nearly black. I should have attributed so rapid a change to poison, had I not been aware that he had no opportunity of receiving it unperceived. The day was declining, the body was rapidly altering, and nothing remained but to fulfil his request. With the aid of Suleiman's ataghan and my own sabre, we scooped a shallow grave upon the spot which Darvell had indicated: the earth easily gave way, having already received some Mahometan tenant. We dug as deeply as the time permitted us, and throwing the dry earth upon all that remained of the singular being so lately departed, we cut a few sods of greener turf from the less withered soil around us, and laid them upon his sepulchre.

Between astonishment and grief, I was tearless.

* * * * *

LETTER

TO JOHN MURRAY, ESQ. ON THE REV. W.L. BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF POPE.

* * * * *

"I'll play at _Bowls_ with the sun and moon."--OLD SONG.

"My mither's auld, Sir, and she has rather forgotten hersel in speaking to my Leddy, that canna weel bide to be contradickit, (as I ken nobody likes it, if they could help themsels.)"

TALES OF MY LANDLORD, _Old Mortality_, vol. ii. p. 163.

* * * * *

Ravenna, February 7. 1821.

Dear Sir,

In the different pamphlets which you have had the goodness to send me, on the Pope and Bowles' controversy, I perceive that my name is occasionally introduced by both parties. Mr. Bowles refers more than once to what he is pleased to consider "a remarkable circumstance," not only in his letter to Mr. Campbell, but in his reply to the Quarterly. The Quarterly also and Mr. Gilchrist have conferred on me the dangerous honour of a quotation; and Mr. Bowles indirectly makes a kind of appeal to me personally, by saying, "Lord Byron, _if he remembers_ the circumstance, will _witness_"--_(witness_ IN ITALICS, an ominous character for a testimony at present).

I shall not avail myself of a "non mi ricordo," even after so long a residence in Italy;--I _do_ "remember the circumstance,"--and have no reluctance to relate it (since called upon so to do), as correctly as the distance of time and the impression of intervening events will permit me. In the year 1812, more than three years after the publication of "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," I had the honour of meeting Mr. Bowles in the house of our venerable host of "Human Life," &c. the last Argonaut of classic English poetry, and the Nestor of our inferior race of living poets. Mr. Bowles calls this "soon after" the publication; but to me three years appear a considerable segment of the immortality of a modern poem. I recollect nothing of "the rest of the company going into another room,"--nor, though I well remember the topography of our host's elegant and classically furnished mansion, could I swear to the very room where the conversation occurred, though the "taking _down_ the poem" seems to fix it in the library. Had it been "taken _up_" it would probably have been in the drawing-room. I presume also that the "remarkable circumstance" took place _after_ dinner; as I conceive that neither Mr. Bowles's politeness nor appetite would have allowed him to detain "the rest of the company" standing round their chairs in the "other room," while we were discussing "the Woods of Madeira," instead of circulating its vintage. Of Mr. Bowles's "good humour" I have a full and not ungrateful recollection; as also of his gentlemanly manners and agreeable conversation. I speak of the _whole_, and not of particulars; for whether he did or did not use the precise words printed in the pamphlet, I cannot say, nor could he with accuracy. Of "the tone of seriousness" I certainly recollect nothing: on the contrary, I thought Mr. Bowles rather disposed to treat the subject lightly: for he said (I have no objection to be contradicted if incorrect), that some of his good-natured friends had come to him and exclaimed, "Eh! Bowles! how came you to make the Woods of Madeira?" &c. &c. and that he had been at some pains and pulling down of the poem to convince them that he had never made "the Woods" do any thing of the kind. He was right, and _I was wrong,_ and have been wrong still up to this acknowledgment; for I ought to have looked twice before I wrote that which involved an inaccuracy capable of giving pain. The fact was, that, although I had certainly before read "the Spirit of Discovery," I took the quotation from the review. But the mistake was mine, and not the _review's,_ which quoted the passage correctly enough, I believe. I blundered--God knows how--into attributing the tremors of the lovers to "the Woods of Madeira," by which they were surrounded. And I hereby do fully and freely declare and asseverate, that the Woods did _not_ tremble to a kiss, and that the lovers did. I quote from memory--

------"A kiss Stole on the listening silence, &c. &c. They [the lovers] trembled, even as if the power," &c.

And if I had been aware that this declaration would have been in the smallest degree satisfactory to Mr. Bowles, I should not have waited nine years to make it, notwithstanding that "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" had been suppressed some time previously to my meeting him at Mr. Rogers's. Our worthy host might indeed have told him as much, as it was at his representation that I suppressed it. A new edition of that lampoon was preparing for the press, when Mr. Rogers represented to me, that "I was _now_ acquainted with many of the persons mentioned in it, and with some on terms of intimacy;" and that he knew "one family in particular to whom its suppression would give pleasure." I did not hesitate one moment, it was cancelled instantly; and it is no fault of mine that it has ever been republished. When I left England, in April, 1816, with no very violent intentions of troubling that country again, and amidst scenes of various kinds to distract my attention,--almost my last act, I believe, was to sign a power of attorney, to yourself, to prevent or suppress any attempts (of which several had been made in Ireland) at a republication. It is proper that I should state, that the persons with whom I was subsequently acquainted, whose names had occurred in that publication, were made my acquaintances at their own desire, or through the unsought intervention of others. I never, to the best of my knowledge, sought a personal introduction to any. Some of them to this day I know only by correspondence; and with one of those it was begun by myself, in consequence, however, of a polite verbal communication from a third person.

I have dwelt for an instant on these circumstances, because it has sometimes been made a subject of bitter reproach to me to have endeavoured to _suppress_ that satire. I never shrunk, as those who know me know, from any personal consequences which could be attached to its publication. Of its subsequent suppression, as I possessed the copyright, I was the best judge and the sole master. The circumstances which occasioned the suppression I have now stated; of the motives, each must judge according to his candour or malignity. Mr. Bowles does me the honour to talk of "noble mind," and "generous magnanimity;" and all this because "the circumstance would have been explained had not the book been suppressed." I see no "nobility of mind" in an act of simple justice; and I hate the word "_magnanimity,"_ because I have sometimes seen it applied to the grossest of impostors by the greatest of fools; but I would have "explained the circumstance," notwithstanding "the suppression of the book," if Mr. Bowles had expressed any desire that I should. As the "gallant Galbraith" says to "Baillie Jarvie," "Well, the devil take the mistake, and all that occasioned it." I have had as great and greater mistakes made about me personally and poetically, once a month for these last ten years, and never cared very much about correcting one or the other, at least after the first eight and forty hours had gone over them.

I must now, however, say a word or two about Pope, of whom you have my opinion more at large in the unpublished letter _on_ or _to_ (for I forget which) the editor of "Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine;"--and here I doubt that Mr. Bowles will not approve of my sentiments.

Although I regret having published "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," the part which I regret the least is that which regards Mr. Bowles with reference to Pope. Whilst I was writing that publication, in 1807 and 1808, Mr. Hobhouse was desirous that I should express our mutual opinion of Pope, and of Mr. Bowles's edition of his works. As I had completed my outline, and felt lazy, I requested that _he_ would do so. He did it. His fourteen lines on Bowles's Pope are in the first edition of "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers;" and are quite as severe and much more poetical than my own in the second. On reprinting the work, as I put my name to it, I omitted Mr. Hobhouse's lines, and replaced them with my own, by which the work gained less than Mr. Bowles. I have stated this in the preface to the second edition. It is many years since I have read that poem; but the Quarterly Review, Mr. Octavius Gilchrist, and Mr. Bowles himself, have been so obliging as to refresh my memory, and that of the public. I am grieved to say, that in reading over those lines, I repent of their having so far fallen short of what I meant to express upon the subject of Bowles's edition of Pope's Works. Mr. Bowles says, that "Lord Byron _knows_ he does _not_ deserve this character." I know no such thing. I have met Mr. Bowles occasionally, in the best society in London; he appeared to me an amiable, well-informed, and extremely able man. I desire nothing better than to dine in company with such a mannered man every day in the week: but of "his character" I know nothing personally; I can only speak to his manners, and these have my warmest approbation. But I never judge from manners, for I once had my pocket picked by the civilest gentleman I ever met with; and one of the mildest persons I ever saw was All Pacha. Of Mr. Bowles's "_character_" I will not do him the _injustice_ to judge from the edition of Pope, if he prepared it heedlessly; nor the _justice,_ should it be otherwise, because I would neither become a literary executioner nor a personal one. Mr. Bowles the individual, and Mr. Bowles the editor, appear the two most opposite things imaginable.

"And he himself one--antithesis."

I won't say "vile," because it is harsh; nor "mistaken," because it has two syllables too many: but every one must fill up the blank as he pleases.

What I saw of Mr. Bowles increased my surprise and regret that he should ever have lent his talents to such a task. If he had been a fool, there would have been some excuse for him; if he had been a needy or a bad man, his conduct would have been intelligible: but he is the opposite of all these; and thinking and feeling as I do of Pope, to me the whole thing is unaccountable. However, I must call things by their right names. I cannot call his edition of Pope a "candid" work; and I still think that there is an affectation of that quality not only in those volumes, but in the pamphlets lately published.

"Why _yet_ he doth _deny_ his prisoners."

Mr. Bowles says, that "he has seen passages in his letters to Martha Blount which were never published by me, and I _hope never will_ be by others; which are so _gross_ as to imply the _grossest_ licentiousness." Is this fair play? It may, or it may not be that such passages exist; and that Pope, who was not a monk, although a Catholic, may have occasionally sinned in word and deed with woman in his youth: but is this a sufficient ground for such a sweeping denunciation? Where is the unmarried Englishman of a certain rank of life, who (provided he has not taken orders) has not to reproach himself between the ages of sixteen and thirty with far more licentiousness than has ever yet been traced to Pope? Pope lived in the public eye from his youth upwards; he had all the dunces of his own time for his enemies, and, I am sorry to say, some, who have not the apology of dulness for detraction, since his death; and yet to what do all their accumulated hints and charges amount?--to an equivocal _liaison_ with Martha Blount, which might arise as much from his infirmities as from his passions; to a hopeless flirtation with Lady Mary W. Montagu; to a story of Cibber's; and to two or three coarse passages in his works. _Who_ could come forth clearer from an invidious inquest on a life of fifty-six years? Why are we to be officiously reminded of such passages in his letters, provided that they exist. Is Mr. Bowles aware to what such rummaging among "letters" and "stories" might lead? I have myself seen a collection of letters of another eminent, nay, pre-eminent, deceased poet, so abominably gross, and elaborately coarse, that I do not believe that they could be paralleled in our language. What is more strange, is, that some of these are couched as _postscripts_ to his serious and sentimental letters, to which are tacked either a piece of prose, or some verses, of the most hyperbolical indecency. He himself says, that if "obscenity (using a much coarser word) be the sin against the Holy Ghost, he most certainly cannot be saved." These letters are in existence, and have been seen by many besides myself; but would his _editor_ have been "_candid_" in even alluding to them? Nothing would have even provoked _me_, an indifferent spectator, to allude to them, but this further attempt at the depreciation of Pope.

What should we say to an editor of Addison, who cited the following passage from Walpole's letters to George Montagu? "Dr. Young has published a new book, &c. Mr. Addison sent for the young Earl of Warwick, as he was dying, to show him in what peace a Christian could die; unluckily he died of _brandy:_ nothing makes a Christian die in peace like being maudlin! but don't say this in Gath where you are." Suppose the editor introduced it with this preface: "One circumstance is mentioned by Horace Walpole, which, if true, was indeed _flagitious_. Walpole informs Montagu that Addison sent for the young Earl of Warwick, when dying, to show him in what peace a Christian could die; but unluckily he died drunk," &c. &c. Now, although there might occur on the subsequent, or on the same page, a faint show of disbelief, seasoned with the expression of "the _same candour_" (the _same_ exactly as throughout the book), I should say that this editor was either foolish or false to his trust; such a story ought not to have been admitted, except for one brief mark of crushing indignation, unless it were _completely proved._ Why the words "_if true_?" that "_if"_ is not a peacemaker. Why talk of "Cibber's testimony" to his licentiousness? to what does this amount? that Pope when very young was _once_ decoyed by some noblemen and the player to a house of carnal recreation. Mr. Bowles was not always a clergyman; and when he was a very young man, was he never seduced into as much? If I were in the humour for story-telling, and relating little anecdotes, I could tell a much better story of Mr. Bowles than Cibber's, upon much better authority, viz. that of Mr. Bowles himself. It was not related by _him_ in my presence, but in that of a third person, whom Mr. Bowles names oftener than once in the course of his replies. This gentleman related it to me as a humorous and witty anecdote; and so it was, whatever its other characteristics might be. But should I, for a youthful frolic, brand Mr. Bowles with a "libertine sort of love," or with "licentiousness?" is he the less now a pious or a good man, for not having always been a priest? No such thing; I am willing to believe him a good man, almost as good a man as Pope, but no better.

The truth is, that in these days the grand "_primum mobile"_ of England is _cant;_ cant political, cant poetical, cant religious, cant moral; but always cant, multiplied through all the varieties of life. It is the fashion, and while it lasts will be too powerful for those who can only exist by taking the tone of the time. I say _cant,_ because it is a thing of words, without the smallest influence upon human actions; the English being no wiser, no better, and much poorer, and more divided amongst themselves, as well as far less moral, than they were before the prevalence of this verbal decorum. This hysterical horror of poor Pope's not very well ascertained, and never fully proved amours (for even Cibber owns that he prevented the somewhat perilous adventure in which Pope was embarking) sounds very virtuous in a controversial pamphlet; but all men of the world who know what life is, or at least what it was to them in their youth, must laugh at such a ludicrous foundation of the charge of "a libertine sort of love;" while the more serious will look upon those who bring forward such charges upon an insulated fact as fanatics or hypocrites, perhaps both. The two are sometimes compounded in a happy mixture.

Mr. Octavius Gilchrist speaks rather irreverently of a "second tumbler of _hot_ white-wine negus." What does he mean? Is there any harm in negus? or is it the worse for being _hot_? or does Mr. Bowles drink negus? I had a better opinion of him. I hoped that whatever wine he drank was neat; or, at least, that, like the ordinary in Jonathan Wild, "he preferred _punch,_ the rather as there was nothing against it in Scripture." I should be sorry to believe that Mr. Bowles was fond of negus; it is such a "candid" liquor, so like a wishy-washy compromise between the passion for wine and the propriety of water. But different writers have divers tastes. Judge Blackstone composed his "Commentaries" (he was a poet too in his youth) with a bottle of port before him. Addison's conversation was not good for much till he had taken a similar dose. Perhaps the prescription of these two great men was not inferior to the very different one of a soi-disant poet of this day, who, after wandering amongst the hills, returns, goes to bed, and dictates his verses, being fed by a by-stander with bread and butter during the operation.

I now come to Mr. Bowles's "invariable principles of poetry." These Mr. Bowles and some of his correspondents pronounce "unanswerable;" and they are "unanswered," at least by Campbell, who seems to have been astounded by the title. The sultan of the time being offered to ally himself to a king of France because "he hated the word league;" which proves that the Padishan understood French. Mr. Campbell has no need of my alliance, nor shall I presume to offer it; but I do hate that word "_invariable_." What is there of _human_, be it poetry, philosophy, wit, wisdom, science, power, glory, mind, matter, life, or death, which is "_invariable_?" Of course I put things divine out of the question. Of all arrogant baptisms of a book, this title to a pamphlet appears the most complacently conceited. It is Mr. Campbell's part to answer the contents of this performance, and especially to vindicate his own "Ship," which Mr. Bowles most triumphantly proclaims to have struck to his very first fire.

"Quoth he, there was a _Ship;_ Now let me go, thou grey-haired loon, Or my staff shall make thee skip."

It is no affair of mine, but having once begun, (certainly not by my own wish, but called upon by the frequent recurrence to my name in the pamphlets,) I am like an Irishman in a "row," "any body's customer." I shall therefore say a word or two on the "Ship."

Mr. Bowles asserts that Campbell's "Ship of the Line" derives all its poetry, not from "_art_," but from "_nature_." "Take away the waves, the winds, the sun, &c. &c. _one_ will become a stripe of blue bunting; and the other a piece of coarse canvass on three tall poles." Very true; take away the "waves," "the winds," and there will be no ship at all, not only for poetical, but for any other purpose; and take away "the sun," and we must read Mr. Bowles's pamphlet by candle-light. But the "poetry" of the "Ship" does _not_ depend on "the waves," &c.; on the contrary, the "Ship of the Line" confers its own poetry upon the waters, and heightens _theirs._ I do not deny, that the "waves and winds," and above all "the sun," are highly poetical; we know it to our cost, by the many descriptions of them in verse: but if the waves bore only the foam upon their bosoms, if the winds wafted only the sea-weed to the shore, if the sun shone neither upon pyramids, nor fleets, nor fortresses, would its beams be equally poetical? I think not: the poetry is at least reciprocal. Take away "the Ship of the line" "swinging round" the "calm water," and the calm water becomes a somewhat monotonous thing to look at, particularly if not transparently _clear_; witness the thousands who pass by without looking on it at all. What was it attracted the thousands to the launch? they might have seen the poetical "calm water" at Wapping, or in the "London Dock," or in the Paddington Canal, or in a horse-pond, or in a slop-basin, or in any other vase. They might have heard the poetical winds howling through the chinks of a pigsty, or the garret window; they might have seen the sun shining on a footman's livery, or on a brass warming pan; but could the "calm water," or the "wind," or the "sun," make all, or any of these "poetical?" I think not. Mr. Bowles admits "the Ship" to be poetical, but only from those accessaries: now if they _confer_ poetry so as to make one thing poetical, they would make other things poetical; the more so, as Mr. Bowles calls a "ship of the line" without them,--that is to say, its "masts and sails and streamers,"--"blue bunting," and "coarse canvass," and "tall poles." So they are; and porcelain is clay, and man is dust, and flesh is grass, and yet the two latter at least are the subjects of much poesy.

Did Mr. Bowles ever gaze upon the sea? I presume that he has, at least upon a sea-piece. Did any painter ever paint the sea _only_, without the addition of a ship, boat, wreck, or some such adjunct? Is the sea itself a more attractive, a more moral, a more poetical object, with or without a vessel, breaking its vast but fatiguing monotony? Is a storm more poetical without a ship? or, in the poem of the Shipwreck, is it the storm or the ship which most interests? both _much_ undoubtedly; but without the vessel, what should we care for the tempest? It would sink into mere descriptive poetry, which in itself was never esteemed a high order of that art.

I look upon myself as entitled to talk of naval matters, at least to poets:--with the exception of Walter Scott, Moore, and Southey, perhaps, who have been voyagers, I have _swam_ more miles than all the rest of them together now living ever _sailed_, and have lived for months and months on shipboard; and, during the whole period of my life abroad, have scarcely ever passed a month out of sight of the ocean: besides being brought up from two years till ten on the brink of it. I recollect, when anchored off Cape Sigeum in 1810, in an English frigate, a violent squall coming on at sunset, so violent as to make us imagine that the ship would part cable, or drive from her anchorage. Mr. Hobhouse and myself, and some officers, had been up the Dardanelles to Abydos, and were just returned in time. The aspect of a storm in the Archipelago is as poetical as need be, the sea being particularly short, dashing, and dangerous, and the navigation intricate and broken by the isles and currents. Cape Sigeum, the tumuli of the Troad, Lemnos, Tenedos, all added to the associations of the time. But what seemed the most "_poetical_" of all at the moment, were the numbers (about two hundred) of Greek and Turkish craft, which were obliged to "cut and run" before the wind, from their unsafe anchorage, some for Tenedos, some for other isles, some for the main, and some it might be for eternity. The sight of these little scudding vessels, darting over the foam in the twilight, now appearing and now disappearing between the waves in the cloud of night, with their peculiarly _white_ sails, (the Levant sails not being of "_coarse canvass_," but of white cotton,) skimming along as quickly, but less safely than the sea-mews which hovered over them; their evident distress, their reduction to fluttering specks in the distance, their crowded succession, their _littleness_, as contending with the giant element, which made our stout forty-four's _teak_ timbers (she was built in India) creak again; their aspect and their motion, all struck me as something far more "poetical" than the mere broad, brawling, shipless sea, and the sullen winds, could possibly have been without them.

The Euxine is a noble sea to look upon, and the port of Constantinople the most beautiful of harbours, and yet I cannot but think that the twenty sail of the line, some of one hundred and forty guns, rendered it more "poetical" by day in the sun, and by night perhaps still more, for the Turks illuminate their vessels of war in a manner the most picturesque, and yet all this is _artificial_. As for the Euxine, I stood upon the Symplegades--I stood by the broken altar still exposed to the winds upon one of them--I felt all the "_poetry_" of the situation, as I repeated the first lines of Medea; but would not that "poetry" have been heightened by the _Argo_? It was so even by the appearance of any merchant vessel arriving from Odessa. But Mr. Bowles says, "Why bring your ship off the stocks?" for no reason that I know, except that ships are built to be launched. The water, &c. undoubtedly HEIGHTENS the poetical associations, but it does not _make_ them; and the ship amply repays the obligation: they aid each other; the water is more poetical with the ship--the ship less so without the water. But even a ship laid up in dock, is a grand and a poetical sight. Even an old boat, keel upwards, wrecked upon the barren sand, is a "poetical" object, (and Wordsworth, who made a poem about a washing tub and a blind boy, may tell you so as well as I,) whilst a long extent of sand and unbroken water, without the boat, would be as like dull prose as any pamphlet lately published.

What makes the poetry in the image of the "_marble waste of Tadmor_," or Grainger's "Ode to Solitude," so much admired by Johnson? Is it the "_marble_" or the "_waste,_" the _artificial_ or the _natural_ object? The "waste" is like all other _wastes_; but the "_marble_" of Palmyra makes the poetry of the passage as of the place.

The beautiful but barren Hymettus, the whole coast of Attica, her hills and mountains, Pentelicus, Anchesmus, Philopappus, &c. &c. are in themselves poetical, and would be so if the name of Athens, of Athenians, and her very ruins, were swept from the earth. But am I to be told that the "nature" of Attica would be _more_ poetical without the "art" of the Acropolis? of the Temple of Theseus? and of the still all Greek and glorious monuments of her exquisitely artificial genius? Ask the traveller what strikes him as most poetical, the Parthenon, or the rock on which it stands? The COLUMNS of Cape Colonna, or the Cape itself? The rocks at the foot of it, or the recollection that Falconer's _ship_ was bulged upon them? There are a thousand rocks and capes far more picturesque than those of the Acropolis and Cape Sunium in themselves; what are they to a thousand scenes in the wilder parts of Greece, of Asia Minor, Switzerland, or even of Cintra in Portugal, or to many scenes of Italy, and the Sierras of Spain? But it is the "_art_," the columns, the temples, the wrecked vessel, which give them their antique and their modern poetry, and not the spots themselves. Without them, the _spots_ of earth would be unnoticed and unknown; buried, like Babylon and Nineveh, in indistinct confusion, without poetry, as without existence; but to whatever spot of earth these ruins were transported, if they were _capable_ of transportation, like the obelisk, and the sphinx, and the Memnon's head, _there_ they would still exist in the perfection of their beauty, and in the pride of their poetry. I opposed, and will ever oppose, the robbery of ruins from Athens, to instruct the English in sculpture; but why did I do so? The _ruins_ are as poetical in Piccadilly as they were in the Parthenon; but the Parthenon and its rock are less so without them. Such is the poetry of art.

Mr. Bowles contends again that the pyramids of Egypt are poetical, because of "the association with boundless deserts," and that a "pyramid of the same dimensions" would not be sublime in "Lincoln's Inn Fields:" not _so_ poetical certainly; but take away the "pyramids," and what is the "_desert?"_ Take away Stone-henge from Salisbury plain, and it is nothing more than Hounslow heath, or any other unenclosed down. It appears to me that St. Peter's, the Coliseum, the Pantheon, the Palatine, the Apollo, the Laocoon, the Venus di Medicis, the Hercules, the dying Gladiator, the Moses of Michael Angelo, and all the higher works of Canova, (I have already spoken of those of ancient Greece, still extant in that country, or transported to England,) are as _poetical_ as Mont Blanc or Mount Ætna, perhaps still more so, as they are direct manifestations of mind, and _presuppose_ poetry in their very conception; and have, moreover, as being such, a something of actual life, which cannot belong to any part of inanimate nature, unless we adopt the system of Spinosa, that the world is the Deity. There can be nothing more poetical in its aspect than the city of Venice: does this depend upon the sea, or the canals?--

"The dirt and sea-weed whence proud Venice rose?"

Is it the canal which runs between the palace and the prison, or the "Bridge of Sighs," which connects them, that render it poetical? Is it the "Canal Grande," or the Rialto which arches it, the churches which tower over it, the palaces which line, and the gondolas which glide over the waters, that render this city more poetical than Rome itself? Mr. Bowles will say, perhaps, that the Rialto is but marble, the palaces and churches only stone, and the gondolas a "coarse" black cloth, thrown over some planks of carved wood, with a shining bit of fantastically formed iron at the prow, "_without_" the water. And I tell him that without these, the water would be nothing but a clay-coloured ditch; and whoever says the contrary, deserves to be at the bottom of that, where Pope's heroes are embraced by the mud nymphs. There would be nothing to make the canal of Venice more poetical than that of Paddington, were it not for the artificial adjuncts above mentioned; although it is a perfectly natural canal, formed by the sea, and the innumerable islands which constitute the site of this extraordinary city.

The very Cloaca of Tarquin at Rome are as poetical as Richmond Hill; many will think more so: take away Rome, and leave the Tibur and the seven hills, in the nature of Evander's time. Let Mr. Bowles, or Mr. Wordsworth, or Mr. Southey, or any of the other "naturals," make a poem upon them, and then see which is most poetical, their production, or the commonest guide-book, which tells you the road from St. Peter's to the Coliseum, and informs you what you will see by the way. The ground interests in Virgil, because it _will_ be _Rome_, and not because it is Evander's rural domain.

Mr. Bowles then proceeds to press Homer into his service, in answer to a remark of Mr. Campbell's, that "Homer was a great describer of works of art." Mr. Bowles contends, that all his great power, even in this, depends upon their connection with nature. The "shield of Achilles derives its poetical interest from the subjects described on it." And from what does the _spear_ of Achilles derive its interest? and the helmet and the mail worn by Patroclus, and the celestial armour, and the very brazen greaves of the well-booted Greeks? Is it solely from the legs, and the back, and the breast, and the human body, which they enclose? In that case, it would have been more poetical to have made them fight naked; and Gulley and Gregson, as being nearer to a state of nature, are more poetical boxing in a pair of drawers than Hector and Achilles in radiant armour, and with heroic weapons.

Instead of the clash of helmets, and the rushing of chariots, and the whizzing of spears, and the glancing of swords, and the cleaving of shields, and the piercing of breast-plates, why not represent the Greeks and Trojans like two savage tribes, tugging and tearing, and kicking and biting, and gnashing, foaming, grinning, and gouging, in all the poetry of martial nature, unencumbered with gross, prosaic, artificial arms; an equal superfluity to the natural warrior, and his natural poet. Is there any thing unpoetical in Ulysses striking the horses of Rhesus with _his bow_ (having forgotten his thong), or would Mr. Bowles have had him kick them with his foot, or smack them with his hand, as being more unsophisticated?

In Gray's Elegy, is there an image more striking than his "shapeless sculpture?" Of sculpture in general, it may be observed, that it is more poetical than nature itself, inasmuch as it represents and bodies forth that ideal beauty and sublimity which is never to be found in actual nature. This at least is the general opinion. But, always excepting the Venus di Medicis, I differ from that opinion, at least as far as regards female beauty; for the head of Lady Charlemont (when I first saw her nine years ago) seemed to possess all that sculpture could require for its ideal. I recollect seeing something of the same kind in the head of an Albanian girl, who was actually employed in mending a road in the mountains, and in some Greek, and one or two Italian, faces. But of _sublimity_, I have never seen any thing in human nature at all to approach the expression of sculpture, either in the Apollo, the Moses, or other of the sterner works of ancient or modern art.

Let us examine a little further this "babble of green fields" and of bare nature in general as superior to artificial imagery, for the poetical purposes of the fine arts. In landscape painting, the great artist does not give you a literal copy of a country, but he invents and composes one. Nature, in her actual aspect, does not furnish him with such existing scenes as he requires. Even where he presents you with some famous city, or celebrated scene from mountain or other nature, it must be taken from some particular point of view, and with such light, and shade, and distance, &c. as serve not only to heighten its beauties, but to shadow its deformities. The poetry of nature alone, _exactly_ as she appears, is not sufficient to bear him out. The very sky of his painting is not the _portrait_ of the sky of nature; it is a composition of different _skies_, observed at different times, and not the whole copied from any _particular_ day. And why? Because nature is not lavish of her beauties; they are widely scattered, and occasionally displayed, to be selected with care, and gathered with difficulty.

Of sculpture I have just spoken. It is the great scope of the sculptor to heighten nature into heroic beauty, _i.e._ in plain English, to surpass his model. When Canova forms a statue, he takes a limb from one, a hand from another, a feature from a third, and a shape, it may be, from a fourth, probably at the same time improving upon all, as the Greek of old did in embodying his Venus.

Ask a portrait painter to describe his agonies in accommodating the faces with which nature and his sitters have crowded his painting-room to the principles of his art: with the exception of perhaps ten faces in as many millions, there is not one which he can venture to give without shading much and adding more. Nature, exactly, simply, barely nature, will make no great artist of any kind, and least of all a poet--the most artificial, perhaps, of all artists in his very essence. With regard to natural imagery, the poets are obliged to take some of their best illustrations from _art_. You say that a "fountain is as clear or clearer than _glass_" to express its beauty:--

"O fons Bandusiæ, splendidior vitro!"

In the speech of Mark Antony, the body of Cæsar is displayed, but so also is his _mantle_:--

"You all do know this _mantle_," &c.

* * * * *

"Look! in this place ran Cassius' _dagger_ through."

If the poet had said that Cassius had run his _fist_ through the rent of the mantle, it would have had more of Mr. Bowles's "nature" to help it; but the artificial _dagger_ is more poetical than any natural _hand_ without it. In the sublime of sacred poetry, "Who is this that cometh from Edom? with _dyed garments_ from Bozrah?" Would "the comer" be poetical without his "_dyed garments?_" which strike and startle the spectator, and identify the approaching object.

The mother of Sisera is represented listening for the "_wheels of his chariot_." Solomon, in his Song, compares the nose of his beloved to "a tower," which to us appears an eastern exaggeration. If he had said, that her stature was like that of a "tower's," it would have been as poetical as if he had compared her to a tree.

"The virtuous Marcia _towers_ above her sex,"

is an instance of an artificial image to express a _moral_ superiority. But Solomon, it is probable, did not compare his beloved's nose to a "tower" on account of its length, but of its symmetry; and making allowance for eastern hyperbole, and the difficulty of finding a discreet image for a female nose in nature, it is perhaps as good a figure as any other.

Art is _not_ inferior to nature for poetical purposes. What makes a regiment of soldiers a more noble object of view than the same mass of mob? Their arms, their dresses, their banners, and the _art_ and artificial symmetry of their position and movements. A Highlander's plaid, a Mussulman's turban, and a Roman toga, are more poetical than the tattooed or untattooed buttocks of a New Sandwich savage, although they were described by William Wordsworth himself like the "idiot in his glory."

I have seen as many mountains as most men, and more fleets than the generality of landsmen; and, to my mind, a large convoy with a few sail of the line to conduct them is as noble and as poetical a prospect as all that inanimate nature can produce. I prefer the "mast of some great ammiral," with all its tackle, to the Scotch fir or the alpine tannen; and think that _more_ poetry _has been_ made out of it. In what does the infinite superiority of "Falconer's Shipwreck" over all other shipwrecks consist? In his admirable application of the terms of his art; in a poet-sailor's description of the sailor's fate. These _very terms_, by his application, make the strength and reality of his poem. Why? because he was a poet, and in the hands of a poet, _art_ will not be found less ornamental than nature. It is precisely in general nature, and in stepping out of his element, that Falconer fails; where he digresses to speak of ancient Greece, and "such branches of learning."

In Dyer's Grongar Hill, upon which his fame rests, the very appearance of nature herself is moralised into an artificial image:

"Thus is nature's _vesture_ wrought, To instruct our wandering thought; Thus she _dresses green and gay_, To disperse our cares away."

And here also we have the telescope; the misuse of which, from Milton, has rendered Mr. Bowles so triumphant over Mr. Campbell:--

"So we mistake the future's face, Eyed through Hope's deluding _glass_."

And here a word en passant to Mr. Campbell:--

"As yon summits, soft and fair Clad in colours of the air, Which to those who journey near Barren, brown, and rough appear, Still we tread the same coarse way-- The present's still a cloudy day."

Is not this the original of the far-famed--

"'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue?"

To return once more to the sea. Let any one look on the long wall of Malamocco, which curbs the Adriatic, and pronounce between the sea and its master. Surely that Roman work (I mean _Roman_ in conception and performance), which says to the ocean, "Thus far shalt thou come, and no further," and is obeyed, is not less sublime and poetical than the angry waves which vainly break beneath it.

Mr. Bowles makes the chief part of a ship's poesy depend upon the "_wind:_" then why is a ship under sail more poetical than a hog in a high wind? The hog is all nature, the ship is all art, "coarse canvass," "blue bunting," and "tall poles;" both are violently acted upon by the wind, tossed here and there, to and fro, and yet nothing but excess of hunger could make me look upon the pig as the more poetical of the two, and then only in the shape of a griskin.

Will Mr. Bowles tell us that the poetry of an aqueduct consist in the _water_ which it conveys? Let him look on that of Justinian, on those of Rome, Constantinople, Lisbon, and Elvas, or even at the remains of that in Attica.

We are asked, "What makes the venerable towers of Westminster Abbey more poetical, as objects, than the tower for the manufactory of patent shot, surrounded by the same scenery?" I will answer--the _architecture_. Turn Westminster Abbey, or Saint Paul's into a powder magazine, their poetry, as objects, remains the same; the Parthenon was actually converted into one by the Turks, during Morosini's Venetian siege, and part of it destroyed in consequence. Cromwell's dragoons stalled their steeds in Worcester cathedral; was it less poetical as an object than before? Ask a foreigner on his approach to London, what strikes him as the most poetical of the towers before him: he will point out Saint Paul's and Westminster Abbey, without, perhaps, knowing the names or associations of either, and pass over the "tower for patent shot,"--not that, for any thing he knows to the contrary, it might not be the mausoleum of a monarch, or a Waterloo column, or a Trafalgar monument, but because its architecture is obviously inferior.

To the question, "Whether the description of a game of cards be as poetical, supposing the execution of the artists equal, as a description of a walk in a forest?" it may be answered, that the _materials_ are certainly not equal; but that "the _artist_," who has rendered the "game of cards poetical," is _by far the greater_ of the two. But all this "ordering" of poets is purely arbitrary on the part of Mr. Bowles. There may or may not be, in fact, different "orders" of poetry, but the poet is always ranked according to his execution, and not according to his branch of the art.

Tragedy is one of the highest presumed orders. Hughes has written a tragedy, and a very successful one; Fenton another; and Pope none. Did any man, however,--will even Mr. Bowles himself,--rank Hughes and Fenton as poets above _Pope_? Was even Addison (the author of Cato), or Rowe (one of the higher order of dramatists as far as success goes), or Young, or even Otway and Southerne, ever raised for a moment to the same rank with Pope in the estimation of the reader or the critic, before his death or since? If Mr. Bowles will contend for classifications of this kind, let him recollect that descriptive poetry has been ranked as among the lowest branches of the art, and description as a mere ornament, but which should never form the "subject" of a poem. The Italians, with the most poetical language, and the most fastidious taste in Europe, possess now five _great_ poets, they say, Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, Tasso, and, lastly, Alfieri[1]; and whom do they esteem one of the highest of these, and some of them the very highest? Petrarch the _sonneteer_: it is true that some of his Canzoni are _not less_ esteemed, but _not_ more; who ever dreams of his Latin Africa?

[Footnote 1: Of these there is one ranked with the others for his SONNETS, and _two_ for compositions which belong to _no class_ at all? Where is Dante? His poem is not an epic; then what is it? He himself calls it a "divine comedy;" and why? This is more than all his thousand commentators have been able to explain. Ariosto's is not an _epic_ poem; and if poets are to be _classed_ according to the _genus_ of their poetry, where is he to be placed? Of these five, Tasso and Alfieri only come within Aristotle's arrangement, and Mr. Bowles's class-book. But the whole position is false. Poets are classed by the power of their performance, and not according to its rank in a gradus. In the contrary case, the forgotten epic poets of all countries would rank above Petrarch, Dante, Ariosto, Burns, Gray, Dryden, and the highest names of various countries. Mr. Bowles's title of "_invariable_ principles of poetry," is, perhaps, the most arrogant ever prefixed to a volume. So far are the principles of poetry from being "_invariable_," that they never were nor ever will be settled. These "principles" mean nothing more than the predilections of a particular age; and every age has its own, and a different from its predecessor. It is now Homer, and now Virgil; once Dryden, and since Walter Scott; now Corneille, and now Racine; now Crebillon, now Voltaire. The Homerists and Virgilians in France disputed for half a century. Not fifty years ago the Italians neglected Dante--Bettinelli reproved Monti for reading "that barbarian;" at present they adore him. Shakspeare and Milton have had their rise, and they will have their decline. Already they have more than once fluctuated, as must be the case with all the dramatists and poets of a living language. This does not depend upon their merits, but upon the ordinary vicissitudes of human opinions. Schlegel and Madame de Stael have endeavoured also to reduce poetry to _two_ systems, classical and romantic. The effect is only beginning.]

Were Petrarch to be ranked according to the "order" of his compositions, where would the best of sonnets place him? with Dante and the others? no; but, as I have before said, the poet who _executes_ best, is the highest, whatever his department, and will ever be so rated in the world's esteem.

Had Gray written nothing but his Elegy, high as he stands, I am not sure that he would not stand higher; it is the corner-stone of his glory: without it, his odes would be insufficient for his fame. The depreciation of Pope is partly founded upon a false idea of the dignity of his order of poetry, to which he has partly contributed by the ingenuous boast,

"That not in fancy's maze he wandered long, But _stoop'd_ to truth, and moralised his song."

He should have written "rose to truth." In my mind, the highest of all poetry is ethical poetry, as the highest of all earthly objects must be moral truth. Religion does not make a part of my subject; it is something beyond human powers, and has failed in all human hands except Milton's and Dante's, and even Dante's powers are involved in his delineation of human passions, though in supernatural circumstances. What made Socrates the greatest of men? His moral truth--his ethics. What proved Jesus Christ the Son of God hardly less than his miracles? His moral precepts. And if ethics have made a philosopher the first of men, and have not been disdained as an adjunct to his Gospel by the Deity himself, are we to be told that ethical poetry, or didactic poetry, or by whatever name you term it, whose object is to make men better and wiser, is not the _very first order_ of poetry; and are we to be told this too by one of the priesthood? It requires more mind, more wisdom, more power, than all the "forests" that ever were "walked" for their "description," and all the epics that ever were founded upon fields of battle. The Georgics are indisputably, and, I believe, _undisputedly_ even a finer poem than the Æneid. Virgil knew this; he did not order _them_ to be burnt.

"The proper study of mankind is man."

It is the fashion of the day to lay great stress upon what they call "imagination" and "invention," the two commonest of qualities: an Irish peasant with a little whiskey in his head will imagine and invent more than would furnish forth a modern poem. If Lucretius had not been spoiled by the Epicurean system, we should have had a far superior poem to any now in existence. As mere poetry, it is the first of Latin poems. What then has ruined it? His ethics. Pope has not this defect; his moral is as pure as his poetry is glorious.

In speaking of artificial objects, I have omitted to touch upon one which I will now mention. Cannon may be presumed to be as highly poetical as art can make her objects. Mr. Bowles will, perhaps, tell me that this is because they resemble that grand natural article of sound in heaven, and simile upon earth--thunder. I shall be told triumphantly, that Milton made sad work with his artillery, when he armed his devils therewithal. He did so; and this artificial object must have had much of the sublime to attract his attention for such a conflict. He _has_ made an absurd use of it; but the absurdity consists not in using _cannon_ against the angels of God, but any _material_ weapon. The thunder of the clouds would have been as ridiculous and vain in the hands of the devils, as the "villanous saltpetre:" the angels were as impervious to the one as to the other. The thunderbolts become sublime in the hands of the Almighty not as such, but because _he_ deigns to use them as a means of repelling the rebel spirits; but no one can attribute their defeat to this grand piece of natural electricity: the Almighty willed, and they fell; his word would have been enough; and Milton is as absurd, (and, in fact, _blasphemous_,) in putting material lightnings into the hands of the Godhead, as in giving him hands at all.

The artillery of the demons was but the first step of his mistake, the thunder the next, and it is a step lower. It would have been fit for Jove, but not for Jehovah. The subject altogether was essentially unpoetical; he has made more of it than another could, but it is beyond him and all men.

In a portion of his reply, Mr. Bowles asserts that Pope "envied Phillips," because he quizzed his pastorals in the Guardian, in that most admirable model of irony, his paper on the subject. If there was any thing enviable about Phillips, it could hardly be his pastorals. They were despicable, and Pope expressed his contempt. If Mr. Fitzgerald published a volume of sonnets, or a "Spirit of Discovery," or a "Missionary," and Mr. Bowles wrote in any periodical journal an ironical paper upon them, would this be "envy?" The authors of the "Rejected Addresses" have ridiculed the sixteen or twenty "first living poets" of the day, but do they "envy" them? "Envy" writhes, it don't laugh. The authors of the Rejected Addresses may despise some, but they can hardly "envy" any of the persons whom they have parodied; and Pope could have no more envied Phillips than he did Welsted, or Theobald, or Smedley, or any other given hero of the Dunciad. He could not have envied him, even had he himself _not_ been the greatest poet of his age. Did Mr. Ings "_envy_" Mr. Phillips when he asked him, "How came your Pyrrhus to drive oxen and say, I am _goaded_ on by love?" This question silenced poor Phillips; but it no more proceeded from "envy" than did Pope's ridicule. Did he envy Swift? Did he envy Bolingbroke? Did he envy Gay the unparalleled success of his "Beggar's Opera?" We may be answered that these were his friends--true: but does _friendship_ prevent _envy_? Study the first woman you meet with, or the first scribbler, let Mr. Bowles himself (whom I acquit fully of such an odious quality) study some of his own poetical intimates: the most envious man I ever heard of is a poet, and a high one; besides, it is an _universal_ passion. Goldsmith envied not only the puppets for their dancing, and broke his shins in the attempt at rivalry, but was seriously angry because two pretty women received more attention than he did. _This is envy;_ but where does Pope show a sign of the passion? In that case Dryden envied the hero of his Mac Flecknoe. Mr. Bowles compares, when and where he can, Pope with Cowper--(the same Cowper whom in his edition of Pope he laughs at for his attachment to an old woman, Mrs. Unwin; search and you will find it; I remember the passage, though not the page;) in particular he requotes Cowper's Dutch delineation of a wood, drawn up, like a seedsman's catalogue[1], with an affected imitation of Milton's style, as burlesque as the "Splendid Shilling." These two writers, for Cowper is no poet, come into comparison in one great work, the translation of Homer. Now, with all the great, and manifest, and manifold, and reproved, and acknowledged, and uncontroverted faults of Pope's translation, and all the scholarship, and pains, and time, and trouble, and blank verse of the other, who can ever read Cowper? and who will ever lay down Pope, unless for the original? Pope's was "not Homer, it was Spondanus;" but Cowper's is not Homer either, it is not even Cowper. As a child I first read Pope's Homer with a rapture which no subsequent work could ever afford, and children are not the worst judges of their own language. As a boy I read Homer in the original, as we have all done, some of us by force, and a few by favour; under which description I come is nothing to the purpose, it is enough that I read him. As a man I have tried to read Cowper's version, and I found it impossible. Has any human reader ever succeeded?

[Footnote 1: I will submit to Mr. Bowles's own judgment a passage from another poem of Cowper's, to be compared with the same writer's Sylvan Sampler. In the lines to Mary,--

"Thy _needles_, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more, My Mary,"

contain a simple, household, "_indoor_," artificial, and ordinary image; I refer Mr. Bowles to the stanza, and ask if these three lines about "_needles_" are not worth all the boasted twaddling about trees, so triumphantly re-quoted? and yet, in _fact_, what do they convey? A homely collection of images and ideas, associated with the darning of stockings, and the hemming of shirts, and the mending of breeches; but will any one deny that they are eminently poetical and pathetic as addressed by Cowper to his nurse? The trash of trees reminds me of a saying of Sheridan's. Soon after the "Rejected Address" scene in 1812, I met Sheridan. In the course of dinner, he said, "Lord Byron, did you know that, amongst the writers of addresses, was Whitbread himself?" I answered by an enquiry of what sort of an address he had made. "Of that," replied Sheridan, "I remember little, except that there was a _phoenix_ in it."--"A phoenix!! Well, how did he describe it?"--"_Like a poulterer_," answered Sheridan: "it was green, and yellow, and red, and blue: he did not let us off for a single feather." And just such as this poulterer's account of a phoenix is Cowper's stick-picker's detail of a wood, with all its petty minutiæ of this, that, and the other.]

And now that we have heard the Catholic repreached with envy, duplicity, licentiousness, avarice--what was the Calvinist? He attempted the most atrocious of crimes in the Christian code, viz. suicide--and why? because he was to be examined whether he was fit for an office which he seems to wish to have made a sinecure. His connection with Mrs. Unwin was pure enough, for the old lady was devout, and he was deranged; but why then is the infirm and then elderly Pope to be reproved for his connection with Martha Blount: Cowper was the almoner of Mrs. Throgmorton; but Pope's charities were his own, and they were noble and extensive, far beyond his fortune's warrant. Pope was the tolerant yet steady adherent of the most bigoted of sects; and Cowper the most bigoted and despondent sectary that ever anticipated damnation to himself or others. Is this harsh? I know it is, and I do not assert it as my opinion of Cowper _personally_, but to _show what might_ be said, with just as great an appearance of truth and candour, as all the odium which has been accumulated upon Pope in similar speculations. Cowper was a good man, and lived at a fortunate time for his works.

[Footnote: One more poetical instance of the power of art, and even its _superiority_ over nature, in poetry; and I have done:--the bust of _Antinous_! Is there any thing in nature like this marble, excepting the Venus? Can there be more _poetry_ gathered into existence than in that wonderful creation of perfect beauty? But the poetry of this bust is in no respect derived from nature, nor from any association of moral exaltedness; for what is there in common with moral nature, and the male minion of Adrian? The very execution is _not natural_, but _super_-natural, or rather _super-artificial,_ for nature has never done so much.

Away, then, with this cant about nature, and "invariable principles of poetry!" A great artist will make a block of stone as sublime as a mountain, and a good poet can imbue a pack of cards with more poetry than inhabits the forests of America. It is the business and the proof of a poet to give the lie to the proverb, and sometimes to "_make a silken purse out of a sow's ear_;" and to conclude with another homely proverb, "a good workman will not find fault with his tools."]

Mr. Bowles, apparently not relying entirely upon his own arguments, has, in person or by proxy, brought forward the names of Southey and Moore. Mr. Southey "agrees entirely with Mr. Bowles in his _invariable_ principles of poetry." The least that Mr. Bowles can do in return is to approve the "invariable principles of Mr. Southey." I should have thought that the word "_invariable_" might have stuck in Southey's throat, like Macbeth's "Amen!" I am sure it did in mine, and I am not the least consistent of the two, at least as a voter. Moore _(et tu, Brute!_) also approves, and a Mr. J. Scott. There is a letter also of two lines from a gentleman in asterisks, who, it seems, is a poet of "the highest rank:"--who _can_ this be? not my friend, Sir Walter, surely. Campbell it can't be; Rogers it won't be.

"You have _hit the nail in_ the head, and * * * * [Pope, I presume] _on_ the head also.

"I _remain_ yours, affectionately, "(Five _Asterisks_.)"

And in asterisks let him remain. Whoever this person may be, he deserves, for such a judgment of Midas, that "the nail" which Mr. Bowles has "hit _in_ the head," should he driven through his own ears; I am sure that they are long enough.

The attempt of the poetical populace of the present day to obtain an ostracism against Pope is as easily accounted for as the Athenian's shell against Aristides; they are tired of hearing him always called "the Just." They are also fighting for life; for, if he maintains his station, they will reach their own by falling. They have raised a mosque by the side of a Grecian temple of the purest architecture; and, more barbarous than the barbarians from whose practice I have borrowed the figure, they are not contented with their own grotesque edifice, unless they destroy the prior, and purely beautiful fabric which preceded, and which shames them and theirs for ever and ever. I shall be told that amongst those I _have_ been (or it may be, still _am_) conspicuous--true, and I am ashamed of it. I _have_ been amongst the builders of this Babel, attended by a confusion of tongues, but _never_ amongst the envious destroyers of the classic temple of our predecessor. I have loved and honoured the fame and name of that illustrious and unrivalled man, far more than my own paltry renown, and the trashy jingle of the crowd of "Schools" and upstarts, who pretend to rival, or even surpass him. Sooner than a single leaf should be torn from his laurel, it were better that all which these men, and that I, as one of their set, have ever written, should

"Line trunks, clothe spice, or, fluttering in a row, Befringe the rails of Bedlam, or Soho!"

There are those who will believe this, and those who will not. You, sir, know how far I am sincere, and whether my opinion, not only in the short work intended for publication, and in private letters which can never be published, has or has not been the same. I look upon this as the declining age of English poetry; no regard for others, no selfish feeling, can prevent me from seeing this, and expressing the truth. There can be no worse sign for the taste of the times than the depreciation of Pope. It would be better to receive for proof Mr. Cobbett's rough but strong attack upon Shakspeare and Milton, than to allow this smooth and "candid" undermining of the reputation of the most _perfect_ of our poets, and the purest of our moralists. Of his power in the _passions_, in description, in the mock heroic, I leave others to descant. I take him on his strong ground as an _ethical_ poet: in the former, none excel; in the mock heroic and the ethical, none equal him; and in my mind, the latter is the highest of all poetry, because it does that in _verse_, which the greatest of men have wished to accomplish in prose. If the essence of poetry must be a _lie_, throw it to the dogs, or banish it from your republic, as Plato would have done. He who can reconcile poetry with truth and wisdom, is the only true "_poet_" in its real sense, "the _maker_" "the _creator_,"--why must this mean the "liar," the "feigner," the "tale-teller?" A man may make and create better things than these.

I shall not presume to say that Pope is as high a poet as Shakspeare and Milton, though his enemy, Warton, places him immediately under them.[1] I would no more say this than I would assert in the mosque (once Saint Sophia's), that Socrates was a greater man than Mahomet. But if I say that he is very near them, it is no more than has been asserted of Burns, who is supposed

"To rival all but Shakspeare's name below."

[Footnote 1: If the opinions cited by Mr. Bowles, of Dr. Johnson _against_ Pope, are to be taken as decisive authority, they will also hold good against Gray, Milton, Swift, Thomson, and Dryden: in that case what becomes of Gray's poetical, and Milton's moral character? even of Milton's _poetical_ character, or, indeed, of _English_ poetry in general? for Johnson strips many a leaf from every laurel. Still Johnson's is the finest critical work extant, and can never be read without instruction and delight.]

I say nothing against this opinion. But of what "_order_," according to the poetical aristocracy, are Burns's poems? There are his _opus magnum_, "Tam O'Shanter," a _tale_; the Cotter's Saturday Night, a descriptive sketch; some others in the same style: the rest are songs. So much for the _rank_ of his _productions_; the _rank_ of _Burns_ is the very first of his art. Of Pope I have expressed my opinion elsewhere, as also of the effect which the present attempts at poetry have had upon our literature. If any great national or natural convulsion could or should overwhelm your country in such sort, as to sweep Great Britain from the kingdoms of the earth, and leave only that, after all, the most living of human things, a _dead language_, to be studied and read, and imitated by the wise of future and far generations, upon foreign shores; if your literature should become the learning of mankind, divested of party cabals, temporary fashions, and national pride and prejudice; an Englishman, anxious that the posterity of strangers should know that there had been such a thing as a British Epic and Tragedy, might wish for the preservation of Shakspeare and Milton; but the surviving world would snatch Pope from the wreck, and let the rest sink with the people. He is the moral poet of all civilisation; and as such, let us hope that he will one day be the national poet of mankind. He is the only poet that never shocks; the only poet whose _faultlessness_ has been made his reproach. Cast your eye over his productions; consider their extent, and contemplate their variety:--pastoral, passion, mock heroic, translation, satire, ethics,--all excellent, and often perfect. If his great charm be his _melody_, how comes it that foreigners adore him even in their diluted translations? But I have made this letter too long. Give my compliments to Mr. Bowles.

Yours ever, very truly,

BYRON.

_To John Murray, Esq_.

_Post Scriptum_.--Long as this letter has grown, I find it necessary to append a postscript; if possible, a short one. Mr. Bowles denies that he has accused Pope of "a sordid money-getting passion;" but, he adds, "if I had ever done so, I should be glad to find any testimony that, might show he was _not_ so." This testimony he may find to his heart's content in Spence and elsewhere. First, there is Martha Blount, who, Mr. Bowles charitably says, "probably thought he did not save enough for her, as legatee." Whatever she _thought_ upon this point, her words are in Pope's favour. Then there is Alderman Barber; see Spence's Anecdotes. There is Pope's cold answer to Halifax when he proposed a pension; his behaviour to Craggs and to Addison upon like occasions, and his own two lines--

"And, thanks to Homer, since I live and thrive, Indebted to no prince or peer alive;"

written when princes would have been proud to pension, and peers to promote him, and when the whole army of dunces were in array against him, and would have been but too happy to deprive him of this boast of independence. But there is something a little more serious in Mr. Bowles's declaration, that he "_would_ have spoken" of his "noble generosity to the outcast Richard Savage," and other instances of a compassionate and generous heart, "_had they occurred to his recollection when he wrote_." What! is it come to this? Does Mr. Bowles sit down to write a minute and laboured life and edition of a great poet? Does he anatomise his character, moral and poetical? Does he present us with his faults and with his foibles? Does he sneer at his feelings, and doubt of his sincerity? Does he unfold his vanity and duplicity? and then omit the good qualities which might, in part, have "covered this multitude of sins?" and then plead that "_they did not occur to his recollection_?" Is this the frame of mind and of memory with which the illustrious dead are to be approached? If Mr. Bowles, who must have had access to all the means of refreshing his memory, did not recollect these facts, he is unfit for his task; but if he _did_ recollect and omit them, I know not what he is fit for, but I know what would be fit for him. Is the plea of "not recollecting" such prominent facts to be admitted? Mr. Bowles has been at a public school, and as I have been publicly educated also, I can sympathise with his predilection. When we were in the third form even, had we pleaded on the Monday morning, that we had not brought up the Saturday's exercise, because "we had forgotten it," what would have been the reply? And is an excuse, which would not be pardoned to a schoolboy, to pass current in a matter which so nearly concerns the fame of the first poet of his age, if not of his country? If Mr. Bowles so readily forgets the virtues of others, why complain so grievously that others have a better memory for his own faults? They are but the faults of an author; while the virtues he omitted from his catalogue are essential to the justice due to a man.

Mr. Bowles appears, indeed, to be susceptible beyond the privilege of authorship. There is a plaintive dedication to Mr. Gifford, in which _he_ is made responsible for all the articles of the Quarterly. Mr. Southey, it seems, "the most able and eloquent writer in that Review," approves of Mr. Bowles's publication. Now it seems to me the more impartial, that notwithstanding that "the great writer of the Quarterly" entertains opinions opposite to the able article on Spence, nevertheless that essay was permitted to appear. Is a review to be devoted to the opinions of any _one_ man?

Must it not vary according to circumstances, and according to the subjects to be criticised? I fear that writers must take the sweets and bitters of the public journals as they occur, and an author of so long a standing as Mr. Bowles might have become accustomed to such incidents; he might be angry, but not astonished. I have been reviewed in the Quarterly almost as often as Mr. Bowles, and have had as pleasant things said, and some _as unpleasant_, as could well be pronounced. In the review of "The Fall of Jerusalem" it is stated, that I have devoted "my powers, &c. to the worst parts of Manicheism;" which, being interpreted, means that I worship the devil. Now, I have neither written a reply, nor complained to Gifford. I believe that I observed in a letter to you, that I thought "that the critic might have praised Milman without finding it necessary to abuse me;" but did I not add at the same time, or soon after, (à propos, of the note in the book of Travels,) that I would not, if it were even in my power, have a single line cancelled on my account in that nor in any other publication? Of course, I reserve to myself the privilege of response when necessary. Mr. Bowles seems in a whimsical state about the author of the article on Spence. You know very well that I am not in your confidence, nor in that of the conductor of the journal. The moment I saw that article, I was morally certain that I knew the author "by his style." You will tell me that I do _not know_ him: that is all as it should be; keep the secret, so shall I, though no one has ever intrusted it to me. He is not the person whom Mr. Bowles denounces. Mr. Bowles's extreme sensibility reminds me of a circumstance which occurred on board of a frigate in which I was a passenger and guest of the captain's for a considerable time. The surgeon on board, a very gentlemanly young man, and remarkably able in his profession, wore a _wig_. Upon this ornament he was extremely tenacious. As naval jests are sometimes a little rough, his brother officers made occasional allusions to this delicate appendage to the doctor's person. One day a young lieutenant, in the course of a facetious discussion, said, "Suppose now, doctor, I should take off your _hat_,"--"Sir," replied the doctor, "I shall talk no longer with you; you grow _scurrilous_." He would not even admit so near an approach as to the hat which protected it. In like manner, if any body approaches Mr. Bowles's laurels, even in his outside capacity of an _editor_, "they grow _scurrilous_." You say that you are about to prepare an edition of Pope; you cannot do better for your own credit as a publisher, nor for the redemption of Pope from Mr. Bowles, and of the public taste from rapid degeneracy.

OBSERVATIONS UPON "OBSERVATIONS"

A SECOND LETTER TO JOHN MURRAY, ESQ. ON THE REV. W.L. BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF POPE.

* * * * *

_Now first published_.

* * * * *

Ravenna, March 25. 1821.

Dear Sir,

In the further "Observations" of Mr. Bowles, in rejoinder to the charges brought against his edition of Pope, it is to be regretted that he has lost his temper. Whatever the language of his antagonists may have been, I fear that his replies have afforded more pleasure to them than to the public. That Mr. Bowles should not be pleased is natural, whether right or wrong; but a temperate defence would have answered his purpose in the former case--and, in the latter, no defence, however violent, can tend to any thing but his discomfiture. I have read over this third pamphlet, which you have been so obliging as to send me, and shall venture a few observations, in addition to those upon the previous controversy.

Mr. Bowles sets out with repeating his "_confirmed conviction_," that "what he said of the moral part of Pope's character was, generally speaking, true; and that the principles of _poetical_ criticism which he has laid down are _invariable_ and _invulnerable_," &c.; and that he is the _more_ persuaded of this by the "_exaggerations_ of his opponents." This is all very well, and highly natural and sincere. Nobody ever expected that either Mr. Bowles, or any other author, would be convinced of human fallibility in their own persons. But it is nothing to the purpose--for it is not what Mr. Bowles thinks, but what is to be thought of Pope, that is the question. It is what he has asserted or insinuated against a name which is the patrimony of posterity, that is to be tried; and Mr. Bowles, as a party, can be no judge. The more _he_ is persuaded, the better for himself, if it give him any pleasure; but he can only persuade others by the proofs brought out in his defence.

After these prefatory remarks of "conviction," &c. Mr. Bowles proceeds to Mr. Gilchrist; whom he charges with "slang" and "slander," besides a small subsidiary indictment of "abuse, ignorance, malice," and so forth. Mr. Gilchrist has, indeed, shown some anger; but it is an honest indignation, which rises up in defence of the illustrious dead. It is a generous rage which interposes between our ashes and their disturbers. There appears also to have been some slight personal provocation. Mr. Gilchrist, with a chivalrous disdain of the fury of an incensed poet, put his name to a letter avowing the production of a former essay in defence of Pope, and consequently of an attack upon Mr. Bowles. Mr. Bowles appears to be angry with Mr. Gilchrist for four reasons:--firstly, because he wrote an article in "The London Magazine;" secondly, because he afterwards avowed it; thirdly, because he was the author of a still more extended article in "The Quarterly Review;" and, fourthly, because he was NOT the author of the said Quarterly article, and had the audacity to disown it--for no earthly reason but because he had NOT written it.

Mr. Bowles declares, that "he will not enter into a particular examination of the pamphlet," which by a _misnomer_ is called "Gilchrist's Answer to Bowles," when it should have been called "Gilchrist's Abuse of Bowles." On this error in the baptism of Mr. Gilchrist's pamphlet, it may be observed, that an answer may be abusive and yet no less an answer, though indisputably a temperate one might be the better of the two: but if _abuse_ is to cancel all pretensions to reply, what becomes of Mr. Bowles's answers to Mr. Gilchrist?

Mr. Bowles continues:--"But as Mr. Gilchrist derides my _peculiar sensitiveness to criticism_, before I show how _destitute of truth is this representation_, I will here explicitly declare the only grounds," &c. &c. &c.--Mr. Bowles's sensibility in denying his "sensitiveness to criticism" proves, perhaps, too much. But if he has been so charged, and truly--what then? There is no moral turpitude in such acuteness of feeling: it has been, and may be, combined with many good and great qualities. Is Mr. Bowles a poet, or is he not? If he be, he must, from his very essence, be sensitive to criticism; and even if he be not, he need not be ashamed of the common repugnance to being attacked. All that is to be wished is, that he had considered how disagreeable a thing it is, before he assailed the greatest moral poet of any age, or in any language.

Pope himself "sleeps well,"--nothing can touch him further; but those who love the honour of their country, the perfection of her literature, the glory of her language--are not to be expected to permit an atom of his dust to be stirred in his tomb, or a leaf to be stripped from the laurel which grows over it.

Mr. Bowles assigns several reasons why and when "an author is justified in appealing to every _upright_ and _honourable_ mind in the kingdom." If Mr. Bowles limits the perusal of his defence to the "upright and honourable" only, I greatly fear that it will not be extensively circulated. I should rather hope that some of the downright and dishonest will read and be converted, or convicted. But the whole of his reasoning is here superfluous--"_an author is justified in appealing_," &c. when and why he pleases. Let him make out a tolerable case, and few of his readers will quarrel with his motives.

Mr. Bowles "will now plainly set before the literary public all the circumstances which have led to _his name_ and Mr. Gilchrist's being brought together," &c. Courtesy requires, in speaking of others and ourselves, that we should place the name of the former first--and not "_Ego_ et Rex meus." Mr. Bowles should have written "Mr. Gilchrist's name and his."

This point he wishes "particularly to address to those _most respectable characters_, who have the direction and management of the periodical critical press." That the press may be, in some instances, conducted by respectable characters is probable enough; but if they are so, there is no occasion to tell them of it; and if they are not, it is a base adulation. In either case, it looks like a kind of flattery, by which those gentry are not very likely to be softened; since it would be difficult to find two passages in fifteen pages more at variance, than Mr. Bowles's prose at the beginning of this pamphlet, and his verse at the end of it. In page 4. he speaks of "those most respectable characters who have the direction, &c. of the periodical press," and in page 10. we find--

"Ye _dark inquisitors_, a monk-like band, Who o'er some shrinking victim-author stand, A solemn, secret, and _vindictive brand, Only_ terrific in your cowl and hood."

And so on--to "bloody law" and "red scourges," with other similar phrases, which may not be altogether agreeable to the above-mentioned "most respectable characters." Mr. Bowles goes on, "I concluded my observations in the last Pamphleteer with feelings _not unkind_ towards Mr. Gilchrist, or" [it should be _nor_] "to the author of the review of Spence, be he whom he might."--"I was in hopes, _as I have always been ready to admit any errors_ I might have been led into, or prejudice I might have entertained, that even Mr. Gilchrist might be disposed to a more _amicable_ mode of discussing what I had advanced in regard to Pope's moral character." As Major Sturgeon observes, "There never was a set of more _amicable_ officers--with the exception of a boxing-bout between Captain Shears and the Colonel."

A page and a half--nay only a page before--Mr. Bowles re-affirms his conviction, that "what he has said of Pope's moral character is _(generally speaking) true,_ and that his "poetical principles are _invariable_ and _invulnerable_." He has also published three pamphlets,--ay, four of the same tenour,--and yet, with this declaration and these declamations staring him and his adversaries in the face, he speaks of his "readiness to admit errors or to abandon prejudices!!!" His use of the word "amicable" reminds me of the Irish Institution (which I have somewhere heard or read of) called the "_Friendly_ Society," where the president always carried pistols in his pocket, so that when one amicable gentleman knocked down another, the difference might be adjusted on the spot, at the harmonious distance of twelve paces.

But Mr. Bowles "has since read a publication by him (Mr. Gilchrist) containing such vulgar slander, affecting private life and character," &c. &c.; and Mr. Gilchrist has also had the advantage of reading a publication by Mr. Bowles sufficiently imbued with personality; for one of the first and principal topics of reproach is that he is a _grocer_, that he has a "pipe in his mouth, ledger-book, green canisters, dingy shop-boy, half a hogshead of brown treacle," &c. Nay, the same delicate raillery is upon the very title-page. When controversy has once commenced upon this footing, as Dr. Johnson said to Dr. Percy, "Sir, there is an end of politeness--we are to be as rude as we please--Sir, you said that I was _short-sighted_." As a man's profession is generally no more in his own power than his person--both having been made out for him--it is hard that he should be reproached with either, and still more that an honest calling should be made a reproach. If there is any thing more honourable to Mr. Gilchrist than another it is, that being engaged in commerce he has had the taste, and found the leisure, to become so able a proficient in the higher literature of his own and other countries. Mr. Bowles, who will be proud to own Glover, Chatterton, Burns, and Bloomfleld for his peers, should hardly have quarrelled with Mr. Gilchrist for his critic. Mr. Gilchrist's station, however, which might conduct him to the highest civic honours, and to boundless wealth, has nothing to require apology; but even if it had, such a reproach was not very gracious on the part of a clergyman, nor graceful on that of a gentleman. The allusion to "_Christian_ criticism" is not particularly happy, especially where Mr. Gilchrist is accused of having "_set the first example of this mode in Europe_." What _Pagan_ criticism may have been we know but little; the names of Zoilus and Aristarchus survive, and the works of Aristotle, Longinus, and Quintilian: but of "Christian criticism" we have already had some specimens in the works of Philelphus, Poggius, Scaliger, Milton, Salmasius, the Cruscanti (versus Tasso), the French Academy (against the Cid), and the antagonists of Voltaire and of Pope--to say nothing of some articles in most of the reviews, since their earliest institution in the person of their respectable and still prolific parent, "The Monthly." Why, then, is Mr. Gilchrist to be singled out "as having set the first example?" A sole page of Milton or Salmasius contains more abuse--rank, rancorous, _unleavened_ abuse--than all that can be raked forth from the whole works of many recent critics. There are some, indeed, who still keep up the good old custom; but fewer English than foreign. It is a pity that Mr. Bowles cannot witness some of the Italian controversies, or become the subject of one. He would then look upon Mr. Gilchrist as a panegyrist.

In the long sentence quoted from the article in "The London Magazine," there is one coarse image, the justice of whose application I shall not pretend to determine:--"The pruriency with which his nose is laid to the ground" is an expression which, whether founded or not, might have been omitted. But the "anatomical minuteness" appears to me justified even by Mr. Bowles's own subsequent quotation. To the point:--"_Many facts_ tend to prove the peculiar susceptibility of his passions; nor can we implicitly believe that the connexion between him and Martha Blount was of a nature so pure and innocent as his panegyrist Ruffhead would have us believe," &c.--"At _no time_ could she have regarded _Pope personally_ with attachment," &c.--"But the most extraordinary circumstance in regard to his connexion with female society, was the strange mixture of _indecent_ and even _profane_ levity which his conduct and language often exhibited. The cause of this particularity may be sought, perhaps, in his consciousness of physical defect, which made him affect a character uncongenial, and a language opposite to the truth."--If this is not "minute moral anatomy," I should be glad to know what is! It is dissection in all its branches. I shall, however, hazard a remark or two upon this quotation.

To me it appears of no very great consequence whether Martha Blount was or was not Pope's mistress, though I could have wished him a better. She appears to have been a cold-hearted, interested, ignorant, disagreeable woman, upon whom the tenderness of Pope's heart in the desolation of his latter days was cast away, not knowing whither to turn as he drew towards his premature old age, childless and lonely,--like the needle which, approaching within a certain distance of the pole, becomes helpless and useless, and, ceasing to tremble, rusts. She seems to have been so totally unworthy of tenderness, that it is an additional proof of the kindness of Pope's heart to have been able to love such a being. But we must love something. I agree with Mr. B. that _she_ "could at no time have regarded _Pope personally_ with attachment," because she was incapable of attachment; but I deny that Pope could not be regarded with personal attachment by a worthier woman. It is not probable, indeed, that a woman would have fallen in love with him as he walked along the Mall, or in a box at the opera, nor from a balcony, nor in a ball-room; but in society he seems to have been as amiable as unassuming, and, with the greatest disadvantages of figure, his head and face were remarkably handsome, especially his eyes. He was adored by his friends--friends of the most opposite dispositions, ages, and talents--by the old and wayward Wycherley, by the cynical Swift, the rough Atterbury, the gentle Spence, the stern attorney-bishop Warburton, the virtuous Berkeley, and the "cankered Bolingbroke." Bolingbroke wept over him like a child; and Spence's description of his last moments is at least as edifying as the more ostentatious account of the deathbed of Addison. The soldier Peterborough and the poet Gay, the witty Congreve and the laughing Rowe, the eccentric Cromwell and the steady Bathurst, were all his intimates. The man who could conciliate so many men of the most opposite description, not one of whom but was a remarkable or a celebrated character, might well have pretended to all the attachment which a reasonable man would desire of an amiable woman.

Pope, in fact, wherever he got it, appears to have understood the sex well, Bolingbroke, "a judge of the subject," says Warton, thought his "Epistle on the Characters of Women" his "masterpiece." And even with respect to the grosser passion, which takes occasionally the name of "_romantic_," accordingly as the degree of sentiment elevates it above the definition of love by Buffon, it may be remarked, that it does not always depend upon personal appearance, even in a woman. Madame Cottin was a plain woman, and might have been virtuous, it may be presumed, without much interruption. Virtuous she was, and the consequences of this inveterate virtue were that two different admirers (one an elderly gentleman) killed themselves in despair (see Lady Morgan's "France"). I would not, however, recommend this rigour to plain women in general, in the hope of securing the glory of two suicides apiece. I believe that there are few men who, in the course of their observations on life, may not have perceived that it is not the greatest female beauty who forms the longest and the strongest passions.

But, apropos of Pope.--Voltaire tells us that the Marechal Luxembourg (who had precisely Pope's figure) was not only somewhat too amatory for a great man, but fortunate in his attachments. La Valière, the passion of Louis XIV., had an unsightly defect. The Princess of Eboli, the mistress of Philip II. of Spain, and Maugiron, the minion of Henry III. of France, had each of them lost an eye; and the famous Latin epigram was written upon them, which has, I believe, been either translated or imitated by Goldsmith:--

"Lumine Acon dextro, capta est Leonilla sinistro, Et potis est forma vincere uterque Deos; Blande puer, lumen quod habes concede sorrori, Sic tu cæcus Amor, sic erit illa Venus."

Wilkes, with his ugliness, used to say that "he was but a quarter of an hour behind the handsomest man in England;" and this vaunt of his is said not to have been disproved by circumstances. Swift, when neither young, nor handsome, nor rich, nor even amiable, inspired the two most extraordinary passions upon record, Vanessa's and Stella's.

"Vanessa, aged scarce a score, Sighs for a gown of _forty-four_."

He requited them bitterly; for he seems to have broken the heart of the one, and worn out that of the other; and he had his reward, for he died a solitary idiot in the hands of servants.

For my own part, I am of the opinion of Pausanias. that success in love depends upon Fortune. "They particularly renounce Celestial Venus, into whose temple, &c. &c. &c. I remember, too, to have seen a building in Ægina in which there is a statue of Fortune, holding a horn of Amalthea; and near her there is a winged Love. The meaning of this is, that the success of men in love affairs depends more on the assistance of Fortune than the charms of beauty. I am persuaded, too, with Pindar (to whose opinion I submit in other particulars), that Fortune is one of the Fates, and that in a certain respect she is more powerful than her sisters."--See Pausanias, Achaics, book vii. chap.26. p.246. Taylor's "Translation."

Grimm has a remark of the same kind on the different destinies of the younger Crebillon and Rousseau. The former writes a licentious novel, and a young English girl of some fortune and family (a Miss Strafford) runs away, and crosses the sea to marry him; while Rousseau, the most tender and passionate of lovers, is obliged to espouse his chambermaid. If I recollect rightly, this remark was also repeated in the Edinburgh Review of Grimm's correspondence, seven or eight years ago.

In regard "to the strange mixture of indecent, and sometimes _profane_ levity, which his conduct and language _often_ exhibited," and which so much shocks Mr. Bowles, I object to the indefinite word "_often_;" and in extenuation of the occasional occurrence of such language it is to be recollected, that it was less the tone of _Pope_, than the tone of the _time_. With the exception of the correspondence of Pope and his friends, not many private letters of the period have come down to us; but those, such as they are--a few scattered scraps from Farquhar and others--are more indecent and coarse than any thing in Pope's letters. The comedies of Congreve, Vanbrugh, Farquhar, Cibber, &c., which naturally attempted to represent the manners and conversation of private life, are decisive upon this point; as are also some of Steele's papers, and even Addison's. We all know what the conversation of Sir R. Walpole, for seventeen years the prime minister of the country, was at his own table, and his excuse for his licentious language, viz. "that every body understood _that_, but few could talk rationally upon less common topics." The refinement of latter days,--which is perhaps the consequence of vice, which wishes to mask and soften itself, as much as of virtuous civilisation,--had not yet made sufficient progress. Even Johnson, in his "London," has two or three passages which cannot be read aloud, and Addison's "Drummer" some indelicate allusions.

The expression of Mr. Bowles, "his consciousness of physical defect," is not very clear. It may mean deformity or debility. If it alludes to Pope's deformity, it has been attempted to be shown that this was no insuperable objection to his being beloved. If it alludes to debility, as a consequence of Pope's peculiar conformation, I believe that it is a physical and known fact that hump-backed persons are of strong and vigorous passions. Several years ago, at Mr. Angelo's fencing rooms, when I was a pupil of him and of Mr. Jackson, who had the use of his rooms in Albany on the alternate days, I recollect a gentleman named B--ll--gh--t, remarkable for his strength, and the fineness of his figure. His skill was not inferior, for he could stand up to the great Captain Barclay himself, with the muffles on;--a task neither easy nor agreeable to a pugilistic aspirant. As the by-standers were one day admiring his athletic proportions, he remarked to us, that he had five brothers as tall and strong as himself, and that their _father and mother were both crooked, and of very small stature_;--I think he said, neither of them five feet high. It would not be difficult to adduce similar instances; but I abstain, because the subject is hardly refined enough for this immaculate period, this moral millenium of expurgated editions in books, manners, and royal trials of divorce.

This laudable delicacy--this crying-out elegance of the day--reminds me of a little circumstance which occurred when I was about eighteen years of age. There was then (and there may be still) a famous French "entremetteuse," who assisted young gentlemen in their youthful pastimes. We had been acquainted for some time, when something occurred in her line of business more than ordinary, and the refusal was offered to me (and doubtless to many others), probably because I was in cash at the moment, having taken up a decent sum from the Jews, and not having spent much above half of it. The adventure on the tapis, it seems, required some caution and circumspection. Whether my venerable friend doubted my politeness I cannot tell; but she sent me a letter couched in such English as a short residence of sixteen years in England had enabled her to acquire. After several precepts and instructions, the letter closed. But there was a postscript. It contained these words:--"Remember, Milor, that _delicaci ensure_ everi succés." The _delicacy_ of the day is exactly, in all its circumstances, like that of this respectable foreigner. "It ensures every _succès_," and is not a whit more moral than, and not half so honourable as, the coarser candour of our less polished ancestors.

To return to Mr. Bowles. "If what is here extracted can excite in the mind (I will not say of any 'layman', of any 'Christian', but) of any _human being_," &c. &c. Is not Mr. Gilchrist a "human being?" Mr. Bowles asks "whether in _attributing_ an article," &c. &c, "to the critic, he had _any reason_ for distinguishing him with that courtesy," &c. &c. But Mr. Bowles was wrong in "attributing the article" to Mr. Gilchrist at all; and would not have been right in calling him a dunce and a grocer, if he had written it.

Mr. Bowles is here "peremptorily called upon to speak of a circumstance which gives him the greatest pain,--the mention of a letter he received from the editor of 'The London Magazine.'" Mr. Bowles seems to have embroiled himself on all sides; whether by editing, or replying, or attributing, or quoting,--it has been an awkward affair for him.

Poor Scott is now no more. In the exercise of his vocation, he contrived at last to make himself the subject of a coroner's inquest. But he died like a brave man, and he lived an able one. I knew him personally, though slightly. Although several years my senior, we had been schoolfellows together at the "grammar-schule" (or, as the Aberdonians pronounce it, "_squeel_") of New Aberdeen. He did not behave to me quite handsomely in his capacity of editor a few years ago, but he was under no obligation to behave otherwise. The moment was too tempting for many friends and for all enemies. At a time when all my relations (save one) fell from me like leaves from the tree in autumn winds, and my few friends became still fewer,--when the whole periodical press (I mean the daily and weekly, _not_ the _literary_ press) was let loose against me in every shape of reproach, with the two strange exceptions (from their usual opposition) of "The Courier" and "The Examiner,"--the paper of which Scott had the direction was neither the last nor the least vituperative. Two years ago I met him at Venice, when he was bowed in griefs by the loss of his son, and had known, by experience, the bitterness of domestic privation. He was then earnest with me to return to England; and on my telling him, with a smile, that he was once of a different opinion, he replied to me, 'that he and others had been greatly misled; and that some pains, and rather extraordinary means, had been taken to excite them.' Scott is no more, but there are more than one living who were present at this dialogue. He was a man of very considerable talents, and of great acquirements. He had made his way, as a literary character, with high success, and in a few years. Poor fellow! I recollect his joy at some appointment which he had obtained, or was to obtain, through Sir James Mackintosh, and which prevented the further extension (unless by a rapid run to Rome) of his travels in Italy. I little thought to what it would conduct him. Peace be with him!--and may all such other faults as are inevitable to humanity be as readily forgiven him, as the little injury which he had done to one who respected his talents, and regrets his loss.

I pass over Mr. Bowles's page of explanation, upon the correspondence between him and Mr. S----. It is of little importance in regard to Pope, and contains merely a re-contradiction of a contradiction of Mr. Gilchrist's. We now come to a point where Mr. Gilchrist has, certainly, rather exaggerated matters; and, of course, Mr. Bowles makes the most of it. Capital letters, like Kean's name, "large upon the bills," are made use of six or seven times to express his sense of the outrage. The charge is, indeed, very boldly made; but, like "Ranold of the Mist's" practical joke of putting the bread and cheese into a dead man's mouth, is, as Dugald Dalgetty says, "somewhat too wild and salvage, besides wasting the good victuals."

Mr. Gilchrist charges Mr. Bowles with "suggesting" that Pope "attempted" to commit "a rape" upon Lady M. Wortley Montague. There are two reasons why this could not be true. The first is, that like the chaste Letitia's prevention of the intended ravishment by Fireblood (in Jonathan Wild), it might have been impeded by a timely compliance. The second is, that however this might be, Pope was probably the less robust of the two; and (if the Lines on Sappho were really intended for this lady) the asserted consequences of her acquiescence in his wishes would have been a sufficient punishment. The passage which Mr. Bowles quotes, however, insinuates nothing of the kind: it merely charges her with encouragement, and him with wishing to profit by it,--a slight attempt at seduction, and no more. The phrase is, "a step beyond decorum." Any physical violence is so abhorrent to human nature, that it recoils in cold blood from the very idea. But, the seduction of a woman's mind as well as person is not, perhaps, the least heinous sin of the two in morality. Dr. Johnson commends a gentleman who having seduced a girl who said, "I am afraid we have done wrong," replied, "Yes, we _have_ done wrong,"--"for I would not _pervert_ her mind also." Othello would not "kill Desdemona's _soul_." Mr. Bowles exculpates himself from Mr. Gilchrist's charge; but it is by substituting another charge against Pope. "A step beyond decorum," has a soft sound, but what does it express? In all these cases, "ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute." Has not the Scripture something upon "the lusting after a woman" being no less criminal than the crime? "A step beyond decorum," in short, any step beyond the instep, is a step from a precipice to the lady who permits it. For the gentleman who makes it it is also rather hazardous if he does not succeed, and still more so if he does.

Mr. Bowles appeals to the "Christian reader!" upon this "_Gilchristian_ criticism." Is not this play upon such words "a step beyond decorum" in a clergyman? But I admit the temptation of a pun to be irresistible.

But "a hasty pamphlet was published, in which some personalities respecting Mr. Gilchrist were suffered to appear." If Mr. Bowles will write "hasty pamphlets," why is he so surprised on receiving short answers? The grand grievance to which he perpetually returns is a charge of "_hypochondriacism_," asserted or insinuated in the Quarterly. I cannot conceive a man in perfect health being much affected by such a charge, because his complexion and conduct must amply refute it. But were it true, to what does it amount?--to an impeachment of a liver complaint. "I will tell it to the world," exclaimed the learned Smelfungus.--"You had better," said I, "tell it to your physician." There is nothing dishonourable in such a disorder, which is more peculiarly the malady of students. It has been the complaint of the good, and the wise, and the witty, and even of the gay. Regnard, the author of the last French comedy after Molière, was atrabilious; and Molière himself, saturnine. Dr. Johnson, Gray, and Burns, were all more or less affected by it occasionally. It was the prelude to the more awful malady of Collins, Cowper, Swift, and Smart; but it by no means follows that a partial affliction of this disorder is to terminate like theirs. But even were it so,--

"Nor best, nor wisest, are exempt from thee; Folly--Folly's only free." PENROSE.

If this be the criterion of exemption, Mr. Bowles's last two pamphlets form a better certificate of sanity than a physician's. Mendehlson and Bayle were at times so overcome with this depression, as to be obliged to recur to seeing "puppet-shows, and counting tiles upon the opposite houses," to divert themselves. Dr. Johnson at times "would have given a limb to recover his spirits." Mr. Bowles, who is (strange to say) fond of quoting Pope, may perhaps answer,--

"Go on, obliging creatures, let me see All which disgrac'd my betters met in me."

But the charge, such as it is, neither disgraces them nor him. It is easily disproved if false; and even if proved true, has nothing in it to make a man so very indignant. Mr. Bowles himself appears to be a little ashamed of his "hasty pamphlet;" for he attempts to excuse it by the "great provocation;" that is to say, by Mr. Bowles's supposing that Mr. Gilchrist was the writer of the article in the Quarterly, which he was _not_.

"But, in extenuation, not only the _great_ provocation should be remembered, but it ought to be said, that orders were sent to the London booksellers, that the most direct personal passages should be _omitted entirely_," &c. This is what the proverb calls "breaking a head and giving a plaster;" but, in this instance, the plaster was not spread in time, and Mr. Gilchrist does not seem at present disposed to regard Mr. Bowles's courtesies like the rust of the spear of Achilles, which had such "skill in surgery."

But "Mr. Gilchrist has _no right_ to object, as the reader will see." I am a reader, a "gentle reader," and I see nothing of the kind. Were I in Mr. Gilchrist's place, I should object exceedingly to being abused; firstly, for what I _did_ write, and, secondly, for what I did _not_ write; merely because it is Mr. Bowles's will and pleasure to be as angry with me for having written in the London Magazine, as for not having written in the Quarterly Review.

"Mr. Gilchrist has had ample revenge; for he has, in his answer, said so and so," &c. &c. There is no great revenge in all this; and I presume that nobody either seeks or wishes it. What revenge? Mr. Bowles calls names, and he is answered. But Mr. Gilchrist and the Quarterly Reviewer are not poets, nor pretenders to poetry; therefore they can have no envy nor malice against Mr. Bowles: they have no acquaintance with Mr. Bowles, and can have no personal pique; they do not cross his path of life, nor he theirs. There is no political feud between them. What, then, can be the motive of their discussion of his deserts as an editor?--veneration for the genius of Pope, love for his memory, and regard for the classic glory of their country. Why would Mr. Bowles edite? Had he limited his honest endeavours to poetry, very little would have been said upon the subject, and nothing at all by his present antagonists.

Mr. Bowles calls the pamphlet a "mud-cart," and the writer a "scavenger." Afterward he asks, "Shall he fling dirt and receive _rose-water_?" This metaphor, by the way, is taken from Marmontel's Memoirs; who, lamenting to Chamfort the shedding of blood during the French revolution, was answered, "Do you think that revolutions are to be made with _rose-water_?"

For my own part, I presume that "rose-water" would be infinitely more graceful in the hands of Mr. Bowles than the substance which he has substituted for that delicate liquid. It would also more confound his adversary, supposing him a "scavenger." I remember, (and do you remember, reader, that it was in my earliest youth, "Consule Planco,")--on the morning of the great battle, (the second)--between Gulley and Gregson,--_Cribb_, who was matched against Horton for the second fight, on the same memorable day, awaking me (a lodger at the inn in the next room) by a loud remonstrance to the waiter against the abomination of his towels, which had been laid in _lavender_. Cribb was a coal-heaver--and was much more discomfited by this odoriferous effeminacy of fine linen, than by his adversary Horton, whom, he "finished in style," though with some reluctance; for I recollect that he said, "he disliked hurting him, he looked so pretty,"--Horton being a very fine fresh-coloured young man.

To return to "rose-water"--that is, to gentle means of rebuke. Does Mr. Bowles know how to revenge himself upon a hackney-coachman, when he has overcharged his fare? In case he should not, I will tell him. It is of little use to call him "a rascal, a scoundrel, a thief, an impostor, a blackguard, a villain, a raggamuffin, a--what you please;" all that he is used to--it is his mother-tongue, and probably his mother's. But look him steadily and quietly in the face, and say--"Upon my word, I think you are the _ugliest fellow_ I ever saw in my life," and he will instantly roll forth the brazen thunders of the charioteer Salmoneus as follows:--"_Hugly_! what the h--ll are _you_? _You_ a _gentleman_! Why ----!" So much easier it is to _provoke_--and therefore to vindicate--(for passion punishes him who _feels_ it more than those whom the passionate would excruciate)--by a few quiet words the aggressor, than by retorting violently. The "coals of fire" of the Scripture are _benefits_;--but they are not the less "coals of _fire_."

I pass over a page of quotation and reprobation--"Sin up to my song"--"Oh let my little bark"--"Arcades ambo"--"Writer in the Quarterly Review and himself"--"In-door avocations, indeed"--"King of Brentford"--"One nosegay"--"Perennial nosegay"--"Oh Juvenes,"--and the like.

Page 12. produces "more reasons,"--(the task ought not to have been difficult, for as yet there were none)--"to show why Mr. Bowles attributed the critique in the Quarterly to Octavius Gilchrist." All these "reasons" consist of _surmises_ of Mr. Bowles, upon the presumed character of his opponent. "He did not suppose there could exist a man in the kingdom so _impudent_, &c. &c. except Octavius Gilchrist."--"He did not think there was a man in the kingdom who would _pretend ignorance_, &c. &c. except Octavius Gilchrist."--"He did not conceive that one man in the kingdom would utter such stupid flippancy, &c. &c. except Octavius Gilchrist."--"He did not think there was one man in the kingdom who, &c. &c. could so utterly show his ignorance, _combined with conceit_, &c. as Octavius Gilchrist."--"He did not believe there was a man in the kingdom so perfect in Mr. Gilchrist's 'old lunes,'" &c. &c.--"He did not think the _mean mind_ of any one in the kingdom," &c. and so on; always beginning with "any one in the kingdom," and ending with "Octavius Gilchrist," like the word in a catch. I am not "in the kingdom," and have not been much in the kingdom since I was one and twenty, (about five years in the whole, since I was of age,) and have no desire to be in the kingdom again, whilst I breathe, nor to sleep there afterwards; and I regret nothing more than having ever been "in the kingdom" at all. But though no longer a man "in the kingdom," let me hope that when I have ceased to exist, it may be said, as was answered by the master of Clanronald's henchman, his day after the battle of Sheriff-Muir, when he was found watching his chief's body. He was asked, "who that was?" he replied--"it was a man yesterday." And in this capacity, "in or out of the kingdom," I must own that I participate in many of the objections urged by Mr. Gilchrist. I participate in his love of Pope, and in his not understanding, and occasionally finding fault with, the last editor of our last truly great poet.

One of the reproaches against Mr. Gilchrist is, that he is (it is sneeringly said) an F. S. _A_. If it will give Mr. Bowles any pleasure, I am not an F. S. A. but a Fellow of the Royal Society at his service, in case there should be any thing in that association also which may point a paragraph.

"There are some other reasons," but "the author is now _not_ unknown." Mr. Bowles has so totally exhausted himself upon Octavius Gilchrist, that he has not a word left for the real quarterer of his edition, although now "deterré."

The following page refers to a mysterious charge of "duplicity, in regard to the publication of Pope's letters." Till this charge is made in proper form, we have nothing to do with it: Mr. Gilchrist hints it--Mr. Bowles denies it; there it rests for the present. Mr. Bowles professes his dislike to "Pope's duplicity, _not_ to Pope"--a distinction apparently without a difference. However, I believe that I understand him. We have a great dislike to Mr. Bowles's edition of Pope, but _not_ to Mr. Bowles; nevertheless, he takes up the subject as warmly as if it was personal. With regard to the fact of "Pope's duplicity," it remains to be proved--like Mr. Bowles's benevolence towards his memory.

In page 14. we have a large assertion, that "the 'Eloisa' alone is sufficient to convict him of _gross licentiousness_." Thus, out it comes at last. Mr. Bowles _does_ accuse Pope of "_gross_ licentiousness," and grounds the charge upon a poem. The _licentiousness_ is a "grand peut-être," according to the turn of the times being. The grossness I deny. On the contrary, I do believe that such a subject never was, nor ever could be, treated by any poet with so much delicacy, mingled with, at the same time, such true and intense passion. Is the "Atys" of Catullus _licentious_? No, nor even gross; and yet Catullus is often a coarse writer. The subject is nearly the same, except that Atys was the suicide of his manhood, and Abelard the victim.

The "licentiousness" of the story was _not_ Pope's,--it was a fact. All that it had of gross, he has softened;--all that it had of indelicate, he has purified;--all that it had of passionate, he has beautified;--all that it had of holy, he has hallowed. Mr. Campbell has admirably marked this in a few words (I quote from memory), in drawing the distinction between Pope and Dryden, and pointing out where Dryden was wanting "I fear," says he, "that had the subject of 'Eloisa' fallen into his (Dryden's) hands, that he would have given us but a _coarse_ draft of her passion." Never was the delicacy of Pope so much shown as in this poem. With the facts and the letters of "Eloisa" he has done what no other mind but that of the best and purest of poets could have accomplished with such materials. Ovid, Sappho (in the Ode called hers)--all that we have of ancient, all that we have of modern poetry, sinks into nothing compared with him in this production.

Let us hear no more of this trash about "licentiousness." Is not "Anacreon" taught in our schools?--translated, praised, and edited? Are not his Odes the amatory praises of a boy? Is not Sappho's Ode on a girl? Is not this sublime and (according to Longinus) fierce love for one of her own sex? And is not Phillips's translation of it in the mouths of all your women? And are the English schools or the English women the more corrupt for all this? When you have thrown the ancients into the fire it will be time to denounce the moderns. "Licentiousness!"--there is more real mischief and sapping licentiousness in a single French prose novel, in a Moravian hymn, or a German comedy, than in all the actual poetry that ever was penned, or poured forth, since the rhapsodies of Orpheus. The sentimental anatomy of Rousseau and Mad. de S. are far more formidable than any quantity of verse. They are so, because they sap the principles, by _reasoning_ upon the _passions_; whereas poetry is in itself passion, and does not systematise. It assails, but does not argue; it may be wrong, but it does not assume pretensions to Optimism.

Mr. Bowles now has the goodness "to point out the difference between a _traducer_ and him who sincerely states what he sincerely believes." He might have spared himself the trouble. The one is a liar, who lies knowingly; the other (I speak of a scandal-monger of course) lies, charitably believing that he speaks truth, and very sorry to find himself in falsehood;--because he

"Would rather that the dean should die, Than his prediction prove a lie."

After a definition of a "traducer," which was quite superfluous (though it is agreeable to learn that Mr. Bowles so well understands the character), we are assured, that "he feels equally indifferent, Mr. Gilchrist, for what your malice can invent, or your impudence utter." This is indubitable; for it rests not only on Mr. Bowles's assurance, but on that of Sir Fretful Plagiary, and nearly in the same words,--"and I shall treat it with exactly the same calm indifference and philosophical contempt, and so your servant."

"One thing has given Mr. Bowles concern." It is "a passage which might seem to reflect on the patronage a young man has received." MIGHT seem!! The passage alluded to expresses, that if Mr. Gilchrist be the reviewer of "a certain poet of nature," his praise and blame are equally contemptible."--Mr. Bowles, who has a peculiarly ambiguous style, where it suits him, comes off with a "_not_ to the _poet_, but the critic," &c. In my humble opinion, the passage referred to both. Had Mr. Bowles really meant fairly, he would have said so from the first--he would have been eagerly transparent.--"A certain poet of nature" is not the style of commendation. It is the very prologue to the most scandalous paragraphs of the newspapers, when

"Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike."

"A certain high personage,"--"a certain peeress,"--"a certain illustrious foreigner,"--what do these words ever precede, but defamation? Had he felt a spark of kindling kindness for John Clare, he would have named him. There is a sneer in the sentence as it stands. How a favourable review of a deserving poet can "rather injure than promote his cause" is difficult to comprehend. The article denounced is able and amiable, and it _has_ "served" the poet, as far as poetry can be served by judicious and honest criticism.

With the two next paragraphs of Mr. Bowles's pamphlet it is pleasing to concur. His mention of "Pennie," and his former patronage of "Shoel," do him honour. I am not of those who may deny Mr. Bowles to be a benevolent man. I merely assert, that he is not a candid editor.

Mr. Bowles has been "a writer occasionally upwards of thirty years," and never wrote one word in reply in his life "to criticisms, merely _as_ criticisms." This is Mr. Lofty in Goldsmith's Good-natured Man; "and I vow by all that's honourable, my resentment has never done the men, as mere men, any manner of harm,--that is, _as mere men_."

"The letter to the editor of the newspaper" is owned; but "it was not on account of the criticism. It was because the criticism came down in a frank _directed_ to Mrs. Bowles!!!"--(the italics and three notes of admiration appended to Mrs. Bowles are copied verbatim from the quotation), and Mr. Bowles was not displeased with the criticism, but with the frank and the address. I agree with Mr. Bowles that the intention was to annoy him; but I fear that this was answered by his notice of the reception of the criticism. An anonymous letter-writer has but one means of knowing the effect of his attack. In this he has the superiority over the viper; he knows that his poison has taken effect, when he hears the victim cry;--the adder is _deaf_. The best reply to an anonymous intimation is to take no notice directly nor indirectly. I wish Mr. Bowles could see only one or two of the thousand which I have received in the course of a literary life, which, though begun early, has not yet extended to a third part of his existence as an author. I speak of _literary_ life only. Were I to add _personal_, I might double the amount of _anonymous_ letters. If he could but see the violence, the threats, the absurdity of the whole thing, he would laugh, and so should I, and thus be both gainers.

To keep up the farce,--within the last month of this present writing (1821), I have had my life threatened in the same way which menaced Mr. Bowles's fame,--excepting that the anonymous denunciation was addressed to the Cardinal Legate of Romagna, instead of to Mrs. Bowles. The Cardinal is, I believe, the elder lady of the two. I append the menace in all its barbaric but literal Italian, that Mr. Bowles may be convinced; and as this is the only "promise to pay," which the Italians ever keep, so my person has been at least as much exposed to a "shot in the gloaming," from "John Heatherblutter" (see Waverley), as ever Mr. Bowles's glory was from an editor. I am, nevertheless, on horseback and lonely for some hours (_one_ of them twilight) in the forest daily; and this, because it was my "custom in the afternoon," and that I believe if the tyrant cannot escape amidst his guards (should it be so written?), so the humbler individual would find precautions useless.

Mr. Bowles has here the humility to say, that "he must succumb; for with Lord Byron turned against him, he has no chance,"--a declaration of self-denial not much in unison with his "promise," five lines afterwards, that "for every twenty-four lines quoted by Mr. Gilchrist, or his friend, to greet him with as many from the 'Gilchrisiad';" but so much the better. Mr. Bowles has no reason to "succumb" but to Mr. Bowles. As a poet, the author of "The Missionary" may compete with the foremost of his cotemporaries. Let it be recollected, that all my previous opinions of Mr. Bowles's poetry were _written_ long before the publication of his last and best poem; and that a poet's _last_ poem should be his best, is his highest praise. But, however, he may duly and honourably rank with his living rivals. There never was so complete a proof of the superiority of Pope, as in the lines with which Mr. Bowles closes his "_to be concluded in our next_."

Mr. Bowles is avowedly the champion and the poet of nature. Art and the arts are dragged, some before, and others behind his chariot. Pope, where he deals with passion, and with the nature of the naturals of the day, is allowed even by themselves to be sublime; but they complain that too soon--

"He stoop'd to truth and moralised his song,"

and _there_ even _they_ allow him to be unrivalled. He has succeeded, and even surpassed them, when he chose, in their own _pretended_ province. Let us see what their Coryphæus effects in Pope's. But it is too pitiable, it is too melancholy, to see Mr. Bowles "_sinning_" not "_up_" but "_down_" as a poet to his lowest depth as an editor. By the way, Mr. Bowles is always quoting Pope. I grant that there is no poet--not Shakspeare himself--who can be so often quoted, with reference to life;--but his editor is so like the devil quoting Scripture, that I could wish Mr. Bowles in his proper place, quoting in the pulpit.

And now for his lines. But it is painful--painful--to see such a suicide, though at the shrine of Pope. I can't copy them all:--

"Shall the rank, loathsome miscreant of the age Sit, like a night-mare, grinning o'er a page."

"Whose pye-bald character so aptly suit The two extremes of Bantam and of Brute, Compound grotesque of sullenness and show, The chattering magpie, and the croaking crow."

"Whose heart contends with thy Saturnian head, A root of hemlock, and a lump of lead. Gilchrist proceed," &c. &c.

"And thus stand forth, spite of thy venom'd foam, To give thee _bite for bite_, or lash thee limping home."

With regard to the last line, the only one upon which I shall venture for fear of infection, I would advise Mr. Gilchrist to keep out of the way of such reciprocal morsure--unless he has more faith in the "Ormskirk medicine" than most people, or may wish to anticipate the pension of the recent German professor, (I forget his name, but it is advertised and full of consonants,) who presented his memoir of an infallible remedy for the hydrophobia to the German diet last month, coupled with the philanthropic condition of a large annuity, provided that his cure cured. Let him begin with the editor of Pope, and double his demand.

Yours ever,

BYRON.

_To John Murray, Esq_.

P.S. Amongst the above-mentioned lines there occurs the following, _applied_ to Pope--

"The assassin's vengeance, and the coward's lie."

And Mr. Bowles persists that he is a well-wisher to Pope!!! He has, then, edited an "assassin" and a "coward" wittingly, as well as lovingly. In my former letter I have remarked upon the editor's forgetfulness of Pope's benevolence. But where he mentions his faults it is "with sorrow"--his tears drop, but they do not blot them out. The "recording angel" differs from the recording clergyman. A fulsome editor is pardonable though tiresome, like a panegyrical son whose pious sincerity would demi-deify his father. But a detracting editor is a paricide. He sins against the nature of his office, and connection--he murders the life to come of his victim. If his author is not worthy to be mentioned, do not edit at all: if he be, edit honestly, and even flatteringly. The reader will forgive the weakness in favour of mortality, and correct your adulation with a smile. But to sit down "mingere in patrios cineres," as Mr. Bowles has done, merits a reprobation so strong, that I am as incapable of expressing as of ceasing to feel it.

_Further Addenda_.

It is worthy of remark that, after all this outcry about "_in-door_ nature" and "artificial images," Pope was the principal inventor of that boast of the English, _Modern Gardening_. He divides this honour with Milton. Hear Warton:--"It hence appears, that this _enchanting_ art of modern gardening, in which this kingdom claims a preference over every nation in Europe, chiefly owes _its origin_ and its improvements to two great poets, Milton and _Pope_."

Walpole (no friend to Pope) asserts that Pope formed _Kent's_ taste, and that Kent was the artist to whom the English are chiefly indebted for diffusing "a taste in laying out grounds." The design of the Prince of Wales's garden was copied from _Pope's_ at Twickenham. Warton applauds "his singular effort of art and taste, in impressing so much variety and scenery on a spot of five acres." Pope was the _first_ who ridiculed the "formal, French, Dutch, false and unnatural taste in gardening," both in _prose_ and verse. (See, for the former, "The Guardian.")

"Pope has given not only some of our _first_ but _best_ rules and observations on _Architecture_ and _Gardening_." (See Warton's Essay, vol. ii. p. 237, &c. &c.)

Now, is it not a shame, after this, to hear our Lakers in "Kendal Green," and our Bucolical Cockneys, crying out (the latter in a wilderness of bricks and mortar) about "Nature," and Pope's "artificial in-door habits?" Pope had seen all of nature that _England_ alone can supply. He was bred in Windsor Forest, and amidst the beautiful scenery of Eton; he lived familiarly and frequently at the country seats of Bathurst, Cobham, Burlington, Peterborough, Digby, and Bolingbroke; amongst whose seats was to be numbered _Stowe_. He made his own little "five acres" a model to princes, and to the first of our artists who imitated nature. Warton thinks "that the most engaging of _Kent_'s works was also planned on the model of Pope's,--at least in the opening and retiring shades of Venus's Vale."

It is true that Pope was infirm and deformed; but he could walk, and he could ride (he rode to Oxford from London at a stretch), and he was famous for an exquisite eye. On a tree at Lord Bathurst's is carved "Here Pope sang,"--he composed beneath it. Bolingbroke, in one of his letters, represents them both writing in the hay-field. No poet ever admired Nature more, or used her better, than Pope has done, as I will undertake to prove from his works, _prose_ and _verse_, if not anticipated in so easy and agreeable a labour. I remember a passage in Walpole, somewhere, of a gentleman who wished to give directions about some willows to a man who had long served Pope in his grounds: "I understand, sir," he replied: "you would have them hang down, sir, _somewhat poetical_." Now, if nothing existed but this little anecdote, it would suffice to prove Pope's taste for _Nature_, and the impression which he had made on a common-minded man. But I have already quoted Warton and Walpole (_both_ his enemies), and, were it necessary, I could amply quote Pope himself for such tributes to _Nature_ as no poet of the present day has even approached.

His various excellence is really wonderful: architecture, painting, _gardening_, all are alike subject to his genius. Be it remembered, that English _gardening_ is the purposed perfectioning of niggard _Nature_, and that without it England is but a hedge-and-ditch, double-post-and-rail, Hounslow Heath and Clapham Common sort of country, since the principal forests have been felled. It is, in general, far from a picturesque country. The case is different with Scotland, Wales, and Ireland; and I except also the lake counties and Derbyshire, together with Eton, Windsor, and my own dear Harrow on the Hill, and some spots near the coast. In the present rank fertility of "great poets of the age," and "schools of poetry"--a word which, like "schools of eloquence" and of "philosophy," is never introduced till the decay of the art has increased with the number of its professors--in the present day, then, there have sprung up two sorts of Naturals;--the Lakers, who whine about Nature because they live in Cumberland; and their _under-sect_ (which some one has maliciously called the "Cockney School"), who are enthusiastical for the country because they live in London. It is to be observed, that the rustical founders are rather anxious to disclaim any connexion with their metropolitan followers, whom they ungraciously review, and call cockneys, atheists, foolish fellows, bad writers, and other hard names not less ungrateful than unjust. I can understand the pretensions of the aquatic gentlemen of Windermere to what Mr. Braham terms "_entusumusy_," for lakes, and mountains, and daffodils, and buttercups; but I should be glad to be apprised of the foundation of the London propensities of their imitative brethren to the same "high argument." Southey, Wordsworth, and Coleridge have rambled over half Europe, and seen Nature in most of her varieties (although I think that they have occasionally not used her very well); but what on earth--of earth, and sea, and Nature--have the others seen? Not a half, nor a tenth part so much as Pope. While they sneer at his Windsor Forest, have they ever seen any thing of Windsor except its _brick_?

The most rural of these gentlemen is my friend Leigh Hunt, who lives at Hampstead. I believe that I need not disclaim any personal or poetical hostility against that gentleman. A more amiable man in society I know not; nor (when he will allow his sense to prevail over his sectarian principles) a better writer. When he was writing his "Rimini," I was not the last to discover its beauties, long before it was published. Even then I remonstrated against its vulgarisms; which are the more extraordinary, because the author is any thing but a vulgar man. Mr. Hunt's answer was, that he wrote them upon principle; they made part of his "_system!!_" I then said no more. When a man talks of his system, it is like a woman's talking of her _virtue_. I let them talk on. Whether there are writers who could have written "Rimini," as it might have been written, I know not; but Mr. Hunt is, probably, the only poet who could have had the heart to spoil his own Capo d'Opera.

With the rest of his young people I have no acquaintance, except through some things of theirs (which have been sent out without my desire), and I confess that till I had read them I was not aware of the full extent of human absurdity. Like Garrick's "Ode to Shakspeare," _they "defy criticism_." These are of the personages who decry Pope. One of them, a Mr. John Ketch, has written some lines against him, of which it were better to be the subject than the author. Mr. Hunt redeems himself by occasional beauties; but the rest of these poor creatures seem so far gone that I would not "march through Coventry with them, that's flat!" were I in Mr. Hunt's place. To be sure, he has "led his ragamuffins where they will be well peppered;" but a system-maker must receive all sorts of proselytes. When they have really seen life--when they have felt it--when they have travelled beyond the far distant boundaries of the wilds of Middlesex--when they have overpassed the Alps of Highgate, and traced to its sources the Nile of the New River--then, and not till then, can it properly he permitted to them to despise Pope; who had, if not _in Wales_, been _near_ it, when he described so beautifully the "_artificial_" works of the Benefactor of Nature and mankind, the "Man of Ross," whose picture, still suspended in the parlour of the inn, I have so often contemplated with reverence for his memory, and admiration of the poet, without whom even his own still existing good works could hardly have preserved his honest renown.

I would also observe to my friend Hunt, that I shall be very glad to see him at Ravenna, not only for my sincere pleasure in his company, and the advantage which a thousand miles or so of travel might produce to a "natural" poet, but also to point out one or two little things in "Rimini," which he probably would not have placed in his opening to that poem, if he had ever seen Ravenna;--unless, indeed, it made "part of his system!!" I must also crave his indulgence for having spoken of his disciples--by no means an agreeable or self-sought subject. If they had said nothing of _Pope_, they might have remained "alone with their glory" for aught I should have said or thought about them or their nonsense. But if they interfere with the "little Nightingale" of Twickenham, they may find others who will bear it--_I_ won't. Neither time, nor distance, nor grief, nor age, can ever diminish my veneration for him, who is the great moral poet of all times, of all climes, of all feelings, and of all stages of existence. The delight of my boyhood, the study of my manhood, perhaps (if allowed to me to attain it) he may be the consolation of my age. His poetry is the Book of Life. Without canting, and yet without neglecting religion, he has assembled all that a good and great man can gather together of moral wisdom clothed in consummate beauty. Sir William Temple observes, "that of all the members of mankind that live within the compass of a thousand years, for one man that is born capable of making a _great poet_, there may be a _thousand_ born capable of making as great generals and ministers of state as any in story." Here is a statesman's opinion of poetry: it is honourable to him and to the art. Such a "poet of a thousand years" was _Pope_. A thousand years will roll away before such another can be hoped for in our literature. But it can _want_ them--he himself is a literature.

One word upon his so brutally abused translation of Homer. "Dr. Clarke, whose critical exactness is well known, has _not been_ able to point out above three or four mistakes _in the sense_ through the whole Iliad. The real faults of the translation are of a different kind." So says Warton, himself a scholar. It appears by this, then, that he avoided the chief fault of a translator. As to its other faults, they consist in his having made a beautiful English poem of a sublime Greek one. It will always hold. Cowper and all the rest of the blank pretenders may do their best and their worst: they will never wrench Pope from the hands of a single reader of sense and feeling.

The grand distinction of the under forms of the new school of poets is their _vulgarity_. By this I do not mean that they are _coarse_, but "shabby-genteel," as it is termed. A man may be _coarse_ and yet not _vulgar_, and the reverse. Burns is often coarse, but never _vulgar_. Chatterton is never vulgar, nor Wordsworth, nor the higher of the Lake school, though they treat of low life in all its branches. It is in their _finery_ that the new under school are _most_ vulgar, and they may be known by this at once; as what we called at Harrow "a Sunday blood" might be easily distinguished from a gentleman, although his clothes might be the better cut, and his boots the best blackened, of the two;--probably because he made the one, or cleaned the other, with his own hands.

In the present case, I speak of writing, not of persons. Of the latter, I know nothing; of the former, I judge as it is found. Of my friend Hunt, I have already said, that he is any thing but vulgar in his manners; and of his disciples, therefore, I will not judge of their manners from their verses. They may be honourable and _gentlemanly_ men, for what I know; but the latter quality is studiously excluded from their publications. They remind me of Mr. Smith and the Miss Broughtons at the Hampstead Assembly, in "Evelina." In these things (in private life, at least,) I pretend to some small experience; because, in the course of my youth, I have seen a little of all sorts of society, from the Christian prince and the Mussulman sultan and pacha, and the higher ranks of their countries, down to the London boxer, the "_flash and the swell_," the Spanish muleteer, the wandering Turkish dervise, the Scotch highlander, and the Albanian robber;--to say nothing of the curious varieties of Italian social life. Far be it from me to presume that there ever was, or can be, such a thing as an _aristocracy_ of _poets_; but there _is_ a nobility of thought and of style, open to all stations, and derived partly from talent, and partly from education,--which is to be found in Shakspeare, and Pope, and Burns, no less than in Dante and Alfieri, but which is nowhere to be perceived in the mock birds and bards of Mr. Hunt's little chorus. If I were asked to define what this gentlemanliness is, I should say that it is only to be defined by _examples_--of those who have it, and those who have it not. In _life_, I should say that most _military_ men have it, and few _naval_;--that several men of rank have it, and few lawyers;--that it is more frequent among authors than divines (when they are not pedants); that _fencing_-masters have more of it than dancing-masters, and singers than players; and that (if it be not an Irishism to say so) it is far more generally diffused among women than among men. In poetry, as well as writing in general, it will never _make_ entirely a poet or a poem; but neither poet nor poem will ever be good for any thing without it. It is the _salt_ of society, and the seasoning of composition. _Vulgarity_ is far worse than downright _blackguardism_; for the latter comprehends wit, humour, and strong sense at times; while the former is a sad abortive attempt at all things, "signifying nothing." It does not depend upon low themes, or even low language, for Fielding revels in both;--but is he ever _vulgar_? No. You see the man of education, the gentleman, and the scholar, sporting with his subject,--its master, not its slave. Your vulgar writer is always most vulgar, the higher, his subject; as the man who showed the menagerie at Pidcock's was wont to say,--"This, gentlemen, is the _eagle_ of the _sun_, from Archangel, in Russia; the _otterer_ it is, the _igherer_ he flies." But to the proofs. It is a thing to be felt more than explained. Let any man take up a volume of Mr. Hunt's subordinate writers, read (if possible) a couple of pages, and pronounce for himself, if they contain not the kind of writing which may be likened to "shabby-genteel" in actual life. When he has done this, let him take up Pope;--and when he has laid him down, take up the cockney again--if he can.

* * * * *

_Note to the passage in page_ 396. _relative to Pope's lines upon Lady Mary W. Montague_.] I think that I could show, if necessary, that Lady Mary W. Montague was also greatly to blame in that quarrel, _not_ for having rejected, but for having encouraged him: but I would rather decline the task--though she should have remembered her own line, "_He comes too near, that comes to be denied_." I admire her so much--her beauty, her talents--that I should do this reluctantly. I, besides, am so attached to the very name of _Mary_, that as Johnson once said, "If you called a dog _Harvey_, I should love him;" so, if you were to call a female of the same species "Mary," I should love it better than others (biped or quadruped) of the same sex with a different appellation. She was an extraordinary woman: she could translate _Epictetus_, and yet write a song worthy of Aristippus. The lines,

"And when the long hours of the public are past, And we meet, with champaigne and a chicken, at last, May every fond pleasure that moment endear! Be banish'd afar both discretion and fear! Forgetting or scorning the airs of the crowd, He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud, Till," &c. &c.

There, Mr. Bowles!--what say you to such a supper with such a woman? and her own description too? Is not her "_champaigne and chicken_" worth a forest or two? Is it not poetry? It appears to me that this stanza contains the "_purée_" of the whole philosophy of Epicurus:--I mean the _practical_ philosophy of his school, not the precepts of the master; for I have been too long at the university not to know that the philosopher was himself a moderate man. But, after all, would not some of us have been as great fools as Pope? For my part, I wonder that, with his quick feelings, her coquetry, and his disappointment, he did no more,--instead of writing some lines, which are to be condemned if false, and regretted if true.

INDEX.

* * * * *

The Roman letters refer to the Volume; the Arabic figures to the Page.

* * * * *

A.

ABERDEEN, Mrs. Byron's residence at the day school there at which Lord Byron was a pupil his allusion to the localities of affection of the people of, for his memory Absence, consolations in Abstinence, the sole remedy for plethora Abydos, Lord Byron's swimming feat from Sestos to See Bride of Abydos Abyssinia, Lord Byron's project of visiting Academical studies, effect of, on the imaginative faculty Acerbi, Giuseppe Acland, Mr., Lord Byron's school-fellow at Harrow Acting, no immaterial sensuality so delightful Actium, remains of the town of Actors, an impracticable race Ada See Byron, Augusta-Ada Adair, Robert, esq. Adams, John, the Southwell carrier Lord Byron's epitaph on Addison, Joseph, his character as a poet His conversation His 'Drummer' 'Adolphe,' Benjamin Constant's Adversity 'Æneid, the,' written for political purposes Æschylus His 'Prometheus' His 'Seven before Thebes' 'Agathon,' Wieland's history of Aglietti, Dr., MS. letters in his profession offered to Mr. Murray Albania Albanians, their character and manners Alberoni, Cardinal Albrizzi, Countess, some account of Her conversazioni Her 'Ritratti di Uomini Illustri' Her portrait of Lord Byron Alder, Mr Alexander the Great, his exclamation to the Athenians Alfieri, Vittorio, his description of his first love Effect of the representation of his 'Mira' on Lord Byron His conduct to his mother His tomb in the church of Santa Croce Coincidences between the disposition and habits of Lord Byron and His 'Life' quoted Alfred Club Algarotti, Francesco, his treatment of Lady M.W. Montagu Ali Pacha of Yanina, account of Lord Byron's visit to His letter in Latin to Lord Byron Allegra (Lord Byron's natural daughter) Her death Inscription for a tablet to her memory Allen, John, esq., a 'Helluo of books' Althorp, Viscount Alvanley (William Arden), second Lord Ambrosian library at Milan, Lord Byron's visit to 'Americani,' patriotic society so called Americans, their freedom acquired by firmness without excess Amurath, Sultan 'Anastasius,' Mr. Hope's, his character 'Anatomy of Melancholy,' a most amusing medley of quotations and classical anecdotes Ancestry, pride of, one of the most decided features of Lord Byron's character Andalusian nobleman, adventures of a young Animal food Annesley, the residence of Miss Chaworth Annesley, Mr., Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow Anstey's 'Bath Guide' 'Anti-Byron,' a satire Anti-Jacobin Review Antiloctius, tomb of Antinous, the bust of, super-natural 'Antiquary,' character of Scott's novel so called 'Antony and Cleopatra,' observations on the play of Apollo Belvidere Arethusa, fountain of, Lord Byron's visit to Argenson, Marquis d', his advice to Voltaire Argyle Institution Ariosto, Lord Byron's imitation of his portrait by Titian Measure of his poetry spared by the robber who had read his 'Orlando Furioso' his courage Aristides Aristophanes, Mitchell's translation of 'Armageddon,' Townshend's poem so called Armenian Convent of St. Lazarus Language Grammar Art, not inferior to nature, for poetical purposes Arts, gulf of Ash, Thomas, author of 'The Book' Lord Byron's generous conduct towards Athens, Lord Byron's first visit to account of the maid of Atticus, Herodes Aubonne Augusta, stanzas to Augustus Cæsar, his times 'Auld lang syne' Authors, an irritable set Avarice 'Away, away, ye notes of woe' 'A year ago you swore,' &c.

B.

Bacon, Lord, on the celibacy of men of genius Inaccuracies in his Apophthegms Baillie, Joanna, the only woman capable of writing tragedy Baillie, Dr., Lord Byron put under his care ----, Dr. Matthew, consulted on Lord Byron's supposed insanity Baillie 'Long' Baillie, Mr. D. Balgounie, brig of Ballater, a residence of Lord Byron in his youth Bandello, his history of Romeo and Juliet Bankes, William, esq. Letters to Barbarossa, Aruck Barber, J.T., the painter Barff, Mr., Lord Byron's letters to, on the Greek cause Barlow, Joel, character of his 'Columbiad' Barnes, Thomas, esq. Barry, Mr., the banker of Genoa Bartley, George, the comedian ----, Mrs., the actress Bartolini, the sculptor, his bust of Lord Byron Bartorini, princess, her monument at Bologna Bath, Lord Byron at 'Bath Guide,' Anstey's Baths of Penelope, Lord Byron's visit to 'Baviad and Mæviad,' extinguishment of the Delia Cruscans by the Bay of Biscay Bayes, Mr., caricature of Dryden Beattie, Dr., his 'Minstrel' Beaumarchais, his singular good fortune Beaumont, Sir George Beauvais, Bishop of Beccaria, anecdote of Becher, Rev. John, Lord Byron's friend His epilogue to the 'Wheel of Fortune' His influence over Lord Byron Letters to Beckford, William, esq., his 'Tales' in continuation of 'Vathek' Beggar's Opera,' Gay's, a St. Giles's lampoon Behmen, Jacob, his reverses Bellingham, Lord Byron present at his execution Beloe, Rev. William, character of his 'Sexagenarian' Bembo, Cardinal, amatory correspondence between Lucretia Borgia and Benacus, the (now the Lago di Garda) Bentham, Jeremy, quackery of his followers Benzoni, Countess, her conversazioni Some account of 'Beppo, a Venetian Story' See also Bergami, the Princess of Wales's courier and chamberlain Bernadotte, Jean-Baptiste-Jules, King of Sweden Berni, the father of the Beppo style of writing Berry, Miss 'Bertram,' Mathurin's tragedy of Bettesworth, Captain (cousin of Lord Byron), the only officer in the navy who had more wounds than Lord Nelson Betty, William Henry West (the young Roscius) Beyle, M., his 'Histoire de la Peinture en Italie' His account of an interview with Lord Byron at Milan Bible, the, read through by Lord Byron before he was eight years old Biography 'Bioscope, or Dial of Life,' Mr. Grenville Penn's Birch, Alderman Blackett, Joseph, the poetical cobbler His posthumous writings Blackstone, Judge, composed his Commentaries with a bottle of port before him Blackwood's Magazine Blake, the fashionable tonsor Bland, Rev. Robert Blaquiere, Mr. Bleeding, Lord Byron's prejudice against Blessington, Earl of Letters to ----, Countess of Impromptu on her taking a villa called 'Il Paradiso' Lines written at the request of Letters to Blinkensop, Rev. Mr., his Sermon on Christianity Bloomfield, Nathaniel ----, Robert Blount, Martha, Pope's attachment to Blucher, Marshal 'BLUES, THE; a Literary Eclogue' 'Boatswain,' Lord Byron's favourite dog Boisragon, Dr. Bolivar, Simon Bolder, Mr., Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow Bologna, Lord Byron's visit to the cemetery of Bolton, Mr., letters of Lord Byron to, respecting his will Bonneval, Claudius Alexander, Count de Bonstetten, M. Books, list of, read by Lord Byron before the age of 15 Borgia, Lucretia, her amatory correspondence with Cardinal Bembo 'Born in a garret Borromean Islands 'Bosquet de Julie' 'Bosworth Field,' Lord Byron's projected epic entitled Botzari, Marco, his letter to Lord Byron His death Bowers, Mr. (Lord Byron's school-master at Aberdeen) Bowles, Rev. William Lisle, his controversy concerning Pope His 'Spirit of Discovery,' His 'invariable principles of poetry,' His hypochondriacism His 'Missionary,' Lord Byron's 'Letter on his Strictures on the Life and Writings of Pope,' Lord Byron's 'Observations upon Observations; a Second Letter,' &c. Bowring, Dr., Lord Byron's letters to, on the Greek cause, and his intention to embark in it Boxing Bradshaw, Hon. Cavendish Braham, John, the singer Breme, Marquis de 'BRIDE OF ABYDOS; a Turkish Tale' Bridge of Sighs at Venice, account of Brientz, town and lake of 'Brig of Balgounie' 'British Critic' 'British Review' ----, 'my Grandmother's Review' Lord Byron's letter to the editor Broglie, Duchess of (daughter of Mad. de Staël), her character Anecdote of Her remark on the errors of clever people Brooke, Lord (Sir Fulke Greville), account of a MS. poem by Brougham, Henry, esq. (afterwards Lord Brougham and Vaux), a candidate for Westminster against Sheridan Broughton, the regicide, his monument at Vevay Brown, Isaac Hawkins, his 'Pipe of Tobacco' his 'lava buttons' Browne, Sir Thomas, his 'Religio Medici' quoted Bruce, Mr. Brummell, William, esq. Bruno, Dr., Lord Byron's medical attendant in Greece Anecdote of Brussels Bryant, Jacob, on the existence of Troy Brydges, Sir Egerton, his 'Letters on the Character and Poetical Genius of Byron' His 'Ruminator' Buchanan, Rev. Dr. Bucke, Rev. Charles Buonaparte, Lucien, his 'Charlemagne' ----, Napoleon, one of the most extraordinary of men that anakim of anarchy poor little pagod ode on his fall fortune's favourite Burdett, Sir Francis His style of eloquence Burgage Manor, Notts, the residence of Lord Byron Burgess, Sir James Bland Burke, Rt. Hon. Edmund, his oratory Burns, Robert, his habit of reading at meals His elegy on Maillie 'What would he have been His unpublished letters His rank among poets 'Often coarse, but never vulgar' Burton's 'Anatomy of Melancholy,' 'a most amusing and instructive medley' Burun, Ralph de, mentioned in Doomsday Book Busby, Dr., Dryden's reverential regard for ----, Thomas, Mus. Doct., his monologue on the opening of Drury Lane Theatre His translation of Lucretius Butler, Dr. (headmaster at Harrow) Reconciliation between Lord Byron and BYRON, Sir John, the Little, with the great beard ----, Sir John, 1st Lord, his high and honourable services ----, Sir Richard, tribute to his valour and fidelity ----, Admiral John (the grand-father of the poet), his shipwreck and sufferings ----, William, fifth Lord (grand-uncle of the poet) His trial for killing Mr. Chaworth in a duel His death His eccentric and unsocial habits BYRON, John (father of the poet), his elopement with Lady Carmarthen His marriage with Miss Catherine Gordon His death at Valenciennes ----, Mrs. (mother of the poet), descended from the Gordons of Gight Vehemence of her feelings Ballad on the occasion of her marriage Her fortune Separates from her husband Her capricious excesses of fondness and of anger Her death Lord Byron's Letters to See also ----, Honourable Augusta (sister of the poet) See Leigh, Honourable Augusta ----, (GEORGE-GORDON-BYRON), sixth Lord-- 1788. Born Jan. 22 1790--1791. Taken by his mother to Aberdeen Impetuosity of his temper Affectionate sweetness and playfulness of his disposition The malformation of his foot a source of pain and uneasiness to him His early acquaintance with the Sacred Writings Instances of his quickness and energy Death of his father 1792--1795; Sent to a day-school at Aberdeen His own account of the progress of his infantine studies His sports and exercises 1796--1797. Removed into the Highlands His visits to Lachin-y-gair First awakening of his poetic talent His early love of mountain scenery Attachment for Mary Duff 1798. Succeeds to the title Made a ward of Chancery, under the guardianship of the Earl of Carlisle, and removed to Newstead Placed under the care of an empiric at Nottingham for the cure of his lameness 1799. First symptom of a tendency towards rhyming Removed to London, and put under the care of Dr. Baillie Becomes the pupil of Dr. Glennie, at Dulwich 1800-1804. His boyish love for his cousin, Margaret Parker His 'first dash into poetry' Is sent to Harrow Notices of his school-life His first Harrow verses His school friendships His mode of life as a schoolboy Accompanies his mother to Bath His early attachment to Miss Chaworth Heads a 'rebelling' at Harrow Passes the vacation at Southwell 1805. Removed to Cambridge His college friendships 1806. Aug.-Nov., prepares a collection of his poems for the press His visit to Harrowgate Southwell private theatricals Prints a volume of his poems; but, at the entreaty of Mr. Becher commits the edition to the flames 1807. Publishes 'Hours of Idleness' List of historical writers whose works he had perused at the age of nineteen Reviews Wordsworth's Poems Begins 'Bosworth Field,' an epic. Writes part of a novel 1808. His early scepticism Effect produced on his mind by the critique on 'Hours of Idleness,' in the Edinburgh Review Passes his time between the dissipations of London and Cambridge Takes up his residence at Newstead Forms the design of visiting India Prepares 'English Bards and Scotch Reviewers,' for the press 1809. His coming of age celebrated at Newstead Takes his seat in the House of Lords Loneliness of his position at this period Sets out on his travels State of mind in which he took leave of England Visits Lisbon, Seville, Cadiz, Gibraltar, Malta, Prevesa, Zitza Tepaleen Is introduced to Ali Pacha Begins 'Childe Harold' at Ioannina Visits Actium, Nicopolis; nearly lost in a Turkish ship of war proceeds through Acarnania and Ætolia towards the Morea Reaches Missolonghi Visits Patras, Vostizza, Mount Parnassus, Delphi, Lepanto, Thebes Mount Cithæron Arrives, on Christmas-day, at Athens 1810. Spends ten weeks in visiting the monuments of Athens; makes excursions to several parts of Attica The Maid of Athens Leaves Athens for Smyrna Visits ruins of Ephesus Concludes, at Smyrna, the second canto of 'Childe Harold' April, leaves Smyrna for Constantinople Visits the Troad Swims from Sestos to Abydos May, arrives at Constantinople June, expedition through the Bosphorus to the Black Sea July Aug.--Sept., makes a tour of the Morea Returns to Athens 1811. Writes 'Hints from Horace,' and 'Curse of Minerva.' Returns to England Effect of travel on the general character of his mind and disposition His first connection with Mr. Murray Death of his mother Of his college friends, Matthews and Wingfield And of 'Thyrza' Origin of his acquaintance with Mr. Moore Act of generosity towards Mr. Hodgson 1812. Feb. 27., makes his first speech in the House of Lords Feb. 29., publishes the first and second cantos of 'Childe Harold,' Presents the copyright of the poem to Mr. Dallas Although far advanced in a fifth edition of 'English Bards,' determines to commit it to the flames Presented to the Prince Regent Writes the Address for the opening of Drury Lane Theatre 1813. April, brings out anonymously 'The Waltz' May, publishes the 'Giaour' His intercourse, through Mr. Moore, with Mr. Leigh Hunt Makes preparations for a voyage to the East Projects a journey to Abyssinia Dec., publishes the 'Bride of Abydos' Is an unsuccessful suitor for the hand of Miss Milbanke 1814. Jan., publishes the 'Corsair' April, writes 'Ode on the Fall of Napoleon Buonaparte' Comes to the resolution, not only of writing no more, but of suppressing all he had ever written May, writes 'Lara;' makes a second proposal for the hand of Miss Milbanke, and is accepted Dec., writes 'Hebrew Melodies' 1815. Jan 2., marries Miss Milbanke April, becomes personally acquainted with Sir Walter Scott May, becomes a member of the sub-committee of Drury Lane theatre Pressure of pecuniary embarrassments 1816. Jan., Lady Byron adopts the resolution of separating from him Samples of the abuse lavished on him March, writes 'Fare thee well,' and 'A Sketch' April, leaves England His route--Brussels, Waterloo, &c. Takes up his abode at the Campagne Diodati Finishes, June 27, the third canto of 'Childe Harold' Writes, June 28, 'The Prisoner of Chillon' Writes 'Darkness,' 'Epistle to Augusta,' 'Churchill's Grave,' 'Prometheus,' 'Could I remount,' 'Sonnet to Lake Leman,' and part of 'Manfred' August, an unsuccessful negotiation for a domestic reconciliation Sept., makes a tour of the Bernese Alps His intercourse with Mr. Shelley Oct., proceeds to Italy--route, Martiguy, the Simplon, Milan Verona Nov., takes up his residence at Venice Marianna Segati Studies the Armenian language 1817. Feb., finishes 'Manfred' March, translates from the Armenian, a correspondence between St. Paul and the Corinthians April Makes a short visit to Rome, and writes there a new third act to 'Manfred' July, writes, at Venice, the fourth canto of 'Childe Harold' Oct., writes 'Beppo' 1818. The Fornarina, Margaritta Cogni July, writes 'Ode on Venice' Nov., finishes 'Mazeppa' 1819. Jan., finishes second canto of 'Don Juan' April, beginning of his acquaintance with the Countess Guiccioli June, writes 'Stanzas to the Po' Dec., completes the third and fourth cantos of 'Don Juan' Removes to Ravenna 1820. Jan., domesticated with Countess Guiccioli Feb., translates first canto of the 'Morgante Maggiore' March, finishes 'Prophecy of Dante' Translates 'Francesa of Rimini' And writes 'Observations upon an Article in Blackwood's Magazine' April--July, writes 'Marino Faliero' Oct.--Nov., writes fifth canto of 'Don Juan' 1821. Feb., writes 'Letter on the Rev. W.L. Bowles's Strictures on the Life of Pope' March, 'Second Letter,' &c. May, finishes 'Sardanapalus' July, 'The Two Foscari' Sept., 'Cain' Oct., writes 'Heaven and Earth, a Mystery' and 'Vision of Judgment' Removes to Pisa 1822. Jan., finishes 'Werner' Sept, removes to Genoa His coalition with Hunt in the 'Liberal' 1823. April, turns his views towards Greece Receives a communication from the London committee May, offers to proceed to Greece, and to devote his resources to the object in view Preparations for his departure July 14., sails for Greece Reaches Argostoli Excursion to Ithaca Waits, at Cephalonia, the arrival of the Greek fleet His conversations on religion with Dr. Kennedy at Mataxata His letters to Madame Guiccioli His address to the Greek government And remonstrance to Prince Mavrocordati Testimonies to the benevolence and soundness of his views Instances of his humanity and generosity while at Cephalonia 1824. Jan. 5., arrives at Missolonghi Writes 'Lines on completing my thirty-sixth year' Intended attack upon Lepanto Is made commander-in-chief of the expedition Rupture with the Suliotes The expedition suspended His last illness His death His funeral Inscription on his monument His will His person His sensitiveness on the subject of his lameness His abstemiousness His habitual melancholy His tendency to make the worst of his own obliquities His generosity and kind-heartedness His politics His religious opinions His tendency to superstition Portraits of him Byron, Lady Her remarks on Mr. Moore's Life of Lord Byron Lord Byron's letters to ----, Honourable Augusta Ada Byron, (George) seventh lord ----, Eliza ----, Henry

C.

Cadiz, described Cæsar, Julius, his times Cahir, Lady 'CAIN, a Mystery,' alleged blasphemies See also Caledonian meeting, 'Address intended to be recited at' Calvert, Mr., Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow Cambridge, Lord Byron's entry into Trinity College A chaos of din and drunkenness Lord Byron's distaste to Camoens, distinguished himself in war Campbell, Thomas, esq., his first introduction to Lord Byron Coleridge lecturing against him His 'Pleasures of Hope' The best of judges His unpublished poem on a scene in Germany Inadvertencies in his 'Lives of the Poets' His 'Gertrude of Wyoming' full of false scenery See, also Canning, Right Hon. George His oratory ----, Sir Stratford, his poem entitled 'Buonaparte' Canova His early love Cant, 'the grand primum mobile of England' Cantemir, Demetrius, his 'History of the Ottoman Empire,' Carlile, Richard, folly of his trial Carlisle (Frederick Howard), fifth Earl of, becomes Lord Byron's guardian His alleged neglect of his ward Proposed reconciliation between Lord Byron and Caroline, Queen of England Carmarthen, Marchioness of Caro, Annibale, his translations from the classics Carpenter, James, the bookseller Carr, Sir John, the traveller Cartwright, Major Cary, Rev. Henry Francis, his translation of Dante Castanos, General Castellan, A.L., his 'Moeurs des Ottomans' Castlereagh, Viscount, (Robert Stewart, Marquis of Londonderry) Catholic emancipation 'Cato,' Pope's prologue to Catullus, his 'Atys' not licentious 'Cavalier Servente' Cawthorn, Mr., the bookseller Caylus, Count de 'Cecilia,' Miss Burney's Celibacy of eminent philosophers Centlivre, Mrs., character of her comedies Drove Congreve from the stage 'Cenci,' Shelley's Chamouni, remarks on the scenery of Charlemont, Lady, Lord Byron's admiration of ----, Mrs. Charles the Fifth Charlotte, the Princess, attacks upon Lord Byron in consequence of his verses to Death of Chatham, Lord, a notice of His oratory Chatterton, Thomas, self-educated Never vulgar Chaucer, Geoffrey, character of his poetry Chauncy, Captain Chaworth, Mary Anne (afterwards Mrs. Musters), Lord Byron's early attachment to His last farewell of her Her marriage Interview with, after her marriage Cheltenham, Lord Byron at Childe Alarique 'CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE,' the poem commenced first produced to Mr. Dallas The author's false judgment concerning Identification of Lord Byron's character with Mr. Gifford's opinion of the poem Preparations for publication Its progress through the press Mr. Moore's opinion Its publication and instantaneous success alleged resemblance to Marmion in it The 3d Canto written Progress of the 4th Canto 2500 guineas asked for it The translation confiscated in Italy 'The sublimest poetical achievement of mortal pen' Chillon, Castle of 'CHILLON, PRISONER OF Christ, what proved him the Son of God 'Christabel', Lord Byron's admiration of Cicero, Antony's treatment of Cid Cigars Cintra, the most beautiful village in the world Clare (John Fitzgibbon), Earl of Clare, John, the poet Clarens Claridge, Mr. 'Clarissa Harlowe.' Clarke, Rev. James Stanier, his 'Naufragia.' Clarke, Hewson Classical education Claudian, the 'ultimus Romanorum.' Claughton, Mr. Clayton, Mr. Clitumnus, the river Clubs Coates, Romeo, his Lothario Cobbett, William Cochrane, Lord 'Cockney school' of poetry Cogni, Margarita (the Fornarina), story of Coldham, Mr. Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, esq., his 'Devil's Walk' His 'Remorse' His 'Zopolia' His 'Biographia Literaria' His 'Christabel' Lord Byron's letters to See also Colman, George, esq., his prologue to 'Philaster' ----, George, jun., esq., parallel between Sheridan and Colocotroni Colonna, Cape Columns of Comedy more difficult to compose than Tragedy Concanen, Mr. Congreve, self-educated His comedies Driven from the stage by Mrs. Centlivre Constance (a German lady) Constant, Benjamin de, his 'Adolphe' Constantinople, St. Sophia The seraglio The first sea view Cooke, George Frederick, tragedian, an American Life of The most natural of actors Coolidge, Mr., of Boston Copet Cordova, Admiral ----, Sennorita 'Corinne,' notes written by Lord Byron in Corinth ----, capture of See 'SIEGE OF CORINTH.' Cork, Countess of Cornwall, Barry (Bryan Walter Proctor) 'CORSAIR, the; a Tale' 'Cosmopolite,' an amusing little volume full of French flippancy Cotin, L'Abbé Cottin, Madame 'Could I remount the river of my years' 'Courier' Courtenay, John, esq., anecdotes of Cowell, Mr. John, Letters to Cowley, Abraham, his 'Essays' quoted His character Cowper, Earl ----, Countess ----, William, famous at cricket and football His remark on the English system of education His spaniel 'Beau' An example of filial tenderness 'No poet' His translation of Homer Crabbe, Rev. George, the just tribute to His 'Resentment' His quality as a poet 'The father of present poesy' Crebillon, the younger, his marriage Cribb, Tom, the pugilist Cricketing, one of Lord Byron's most favourite sports 'Critic,' Sheridan's, 'too good for a farce' 'Critical Review' Croker, Right Hon. John Wilson, his query concerning the title of the 'Bride of Abydos' His 'guess' as to the origin of 'Beppo' Lord Byron's letter to His 'Boswell' quoted Crosby, Benjamin Crowe, Rev, William, his criticism in 'English Bards' Curioni, Signor, singer Curran, Right Hon. John Philpot, Lord Byron's enthusiastic praise 'Curse of Kebama' 'CURSE OF MINERVA' Curzon, Mr. Cuvìer, Baron

D.

Dallas, Robert Charles, commencement of his acquaintance with Lord Byron Childe Harold first shown to him Copywright of the Corsair presented to him His ingratitude See also Lord Byron's letters to Dalrymple, Sir Hew D'Alton, John, esq., his 'Dermid' Dandies Dante, his early passion for Beatrice His infelicitous marriage His poem celebrated long before his death His popularity His gentle feelings Lord Byron's resemblance to See also 'PROPHECY OF' D'Arblay, Madame (Miss Burney), 1000 guineas asked for one of her novels Her 'Cecilia' See also Darnley, death of, a fine subject for a drama 'DARKNESS' Darwin, Dr. Erasmus, put down by the Anti-Jacobin Davies, Scrope, esq. Davy, Sir Humphry Dawkins, Mr. 'DEAR DOCTOR, I have read your play' Death Death De Bath, Lord Deformity, an incentive to distinction D'Egville, John, the ballet-master Delaval, Sir Francis Blake Delawarr (George-John West), fifth Earl Delia, poetical epistle from, to Lord Byron Delladecima, Count His opinion of Lord Byron's conduct in Greece Delphi, fountain of Demetrius Denham, his 'Cowper's Hill' Dent de Jument Dervish Tahiri, Lord Byron's faithful Arnaout guide 'Devil's Drive,' the Devil's Walk,' Porson's Devonshire, Duchess of (Lady Elizabeth Foster), her character of the Roman government 'Diary of an Invalid,' Matthews's Dibdin, Thomas, play-wright Dick, Mr. Diderot, his definition of sensibility Digestion Dioclesian Dionysius at Corinth D'Israeli, J., esq. his 'Essay on the Literary Character' His 'Quarrels of Authors' His remark on the effect of medicine upon the mind and spirits 'Distrest Mother,' excellence of the epilogue to D'Ivernois, Sir Francis Divorce Dogs, fidelity of -----, Lord Byron's fondness for His epitaph on 'Boatswain' Don, Brig of Donegal, Lady 'DON JUAN,' a scene in it adapted from the 'Narrative of the Shipwreck of the Juno Commencement of the poem The 1st canto finished 50 copies to be printed privately 2nd canto 'Nonsensical prudery' against it Mr. Murray in a fright about it The papers not so fierce as was anticipated Authorship to be kept anonymous General outcry against the poem Spurious 3rd cantos Mr. Murray going to law The author hurt but not frightened A French lady's compliments Third canto The fifth canto hardly the beginning of the poem The Countess Guiccioli's intercession for its discontinuance Shelley's opinion of it The poem all 'real life' Errors of the press Partiality of the Germans for Permission from the Countess to continue it Three more cantos Another The 'Quarterly' Review of the poem An epitome of the author's character Donna Bianca, or White Lady of Colalto the story of her supernatural appearance D'Orsay, Count His 'Journal' Lord Byron's letter to Dorset (George-John Frederick), fourth Duke of 'LINES occasioned by the death of' Dorville, Mr Dovedale, Lord Byron's eulogy of the scenery of Dramatists, old English, 'full of gross faults' 'Not good as models' 'DREAM,' The The most mournful and picturesque story that ever came from the pen and heart of man 'One of the most interesting' of Lord Byron's poems Dreams Drummond, Sir William His 'OEdipus Judaicus' ----, Mr., Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow Drury, Rev. Henry, Lord Byron's letters to ----, Rev. Dr. Joseph, his account of Lord Byron's disposition and capabilities while at Harrow Lord Byron's character of His retirement from the mastership of Harrow Drury, Mark Drury Lane Theatre 'ADDRESS, spoken at the opening of' Dryden, his praise of Oxford, at the expense of Cambridge Eulogy of his 'Fables' by Lord Byron 'Duenna,' Lord Byron's partiality for the songs in Duff, Colonel (Lord Byron's god-father) ----, Miss Mary (afterwards Mrs. Robert Cockburn), Lord Byron's boyish attachment for Dulwich, Lord Byron at school there Dumont, M Duncan, Mr., Lord Byron's writing-master at Aberdeen Dwyer, Mr Dyer's 'Grongar Hill'

E.

Eagles, a flight of Eboli, Princess of, epigram on her losing an eye Eclectic Review Eddleston, the Cambridge chorister, Lord Byron's protegé Edgecombe, Mr Edgehill, Battle, seven brothers of the Byron family at Edgeworth, Richard Lovell, esq., sketch of ----, Maria Edinburgh Annual Register Edinburgh Review Its effect on the author Its review of the 'Corsair' and 'Bride of Abydos' Education, English system of Elba, Isle of, Lord Byron's 'Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte' on his retreat to Eldon, Earl of Anecdote of Elgin, Earl of, severe treatment of The 'Curse of Minerva' levelled against him Ellice, Edward, esq., letter to Ellis, George, esq. Ellison, Lord Byron's school-fellow at Harrow Elliston, Robert William, comedian, Lord Byron's wish that he should speak his 'Address' at Drury Lane theatre Eloquence, state of Endurance, of more worth than talent ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS, the groundwork laid before the appearance of the critique in the 'Edinburgh Review' Sent to Mr. Harness Success of the satire The author's regret in having written it Refusal to republish it Attempted publication of Englishman, Otway's three requisites for an Envy Ephesus, ruins of EPIGRAM on Moore's Operatic Farce, or Farcical Opera Erskine, Lord, his eloquence his famous pamphlet See, also Essex (George-Capel), fifth Earl of Euxine, or Black Sea, description of Ewing, Dr. Exeter 'Change

F.

Faber, Rev. George Fainting, sensation of Falconer, his 'Shipwreck' Falkland (Lucius Gary), Viscount, killed in a duel by Mr. Powell 'Father of Light! Great God of Heaven!' Falkner, Mr., Lord Byron's letter to, with a copy of his poems Fall of Terni Falmouth Fame, first tidings of, to Lord Byron See. also 'FARE THEE WELL, and if for ever' Farrell, D., esq. Fatalism 'Faust,' Goethe's 'Faustus,' Marlow's Fawcett, John, comedian 'Fazio,' Milman's tragedy of Fear Ferrara, Lord Byron's visit to Fersen, Count Fidler, Ernest Fielding, 'the prose Homer of human nature.' Finlay, Kirkman, esq. Fitzgerald, Lord Edward ----, William Thomas, esq., poetaster Flemish school of painting Fletcher, William (Lord Byron's valet) Flood, Right Hon. Henry, his debut in the House of Commons 'Florence,' the lady addressed under this title in 'Childe Harold' (Mrs., Spencer Smith) Florence, Lord Byron's visits to the picture gallery Foote, Miss, the actress (afterwards, Countess of Harrington), her debut in the 'Child of Nature' Forbes, Lady Adelaide Forresti, G. Forsyth, Joseph, esq., his 'Italy' Fortune, Lord Byron attributed everything to See, also 'Foscari, the Two; an Historical Tragedy' Foscolo, Ugo His 'Essay on Petrarch' Fountain of Arethusa, Lord Byron's visit to Fox, Right Hon. Charles James, notice of poems His Oratory ----, Henry 'Frament, A' 'FRANCESCA OF RIMINI; from the Inferno of Dante' Francis, Sir Philip, the probable author of 'Junius' 'Frankenstein,' Mrs. Shelley's Franklin, Benjamin Frederick the Second, 'the only monarch worth recording in Prussian annals' Free press in Greece Frere, Right Hon. John Hookham, his 'Whistlecraft' Fribourg Friday, supposed unluckiness of

G.

Galignani, M. Gait, John, esq., his life of Lord Byron See, also Gamba, Count Pietro, the Countess Guiccioli's letter to Mr. Moore His friendship with Lord Byron His arrest at Ravenna His notices of Lord Byron on his departure for Greece Remarks on Lord Byron's death Garrick, Sheridan's Monologue on Gay, Madame Sophie ----, Mlle. Delphine Gell, Sir William Review of his 'Geography of Ithaca,' and 'Itinerary of Greece' Geneva, Lake of George the Third, granted a pension to Mrs. Byron George the Fourth, his interview with Lord Byron His indignation against 'Cain' The 'Vault reflection' 'Georgics,' a finer poem than the Æneid Germany and the Germans Ghost, the Newstead 'Giaour, The; a Fragment of a Turkish Tale', the author's fears for it First publication of, and its brilliant success Additions to The author's endeavours to 'beat' it The story on which it is founded Gibbon, Edward, esq., his remark on public schools His acacia His remark on his own History Gifford, William, esq., his opinion of 'English Bards' Lord Byron's disinclination that 'Childe Harold' should be shown to him Influence of his opinion on Lord Byron And Jeffrey, monarch-makers in poetry and prose The 'Bride of Abydos' submitted to Lord Byron's letters to Gilchrist, Octavius Gillies, R.P., the author of 'Childe Alarique' Giordani, Signor Giorgione His 'picture of his wife His judgment of Solomon Giraud, Nicolo, Lord Byron's Greek protégé 'Glenarvon,' Lady Caroline Lamb's Glenbervie (Sylvester Douglas), first Lord, his treatise on timber His 'Ricciardetto' Glennie, Dr. (Lord Byron's preceptor) His account of his pupil's studies Glover, Mrs., actress Godwin, William, Lord Byron's munificence to Goethe, his 'Kennst du das Land,' &c. imitated His saying of Lord Byron His 'Faust His remarks on 'Manfred.' Dedication of 'Marino Faliero' to His 'Werther.' His 'Giaour' story Lord Byron's letter to His tribute to the memory of Byron Goetz, Countess Gordon, Sir John, of Bogagicht ----, Sir William, grandson of James I., an ancestor of Lord Byron's ----, Duchess of ----, Mr. ----, Lord Alexander ----, Pryce, esq. Gordons of Gight Gower, Lord Granville Leveson (now Earl and Viscount Granville) 'Gradus ad Parnassum,' Lord Byron's triangular Grafton (George Henry Fitzroy), fourth Duke of Grainger, his 'Ode to Solitude.' Grant, David, his 'Battles and War Pieces.' Grattan, Right Hon. Henry, his oratory Curran's mimicry of him Gray, his description of Cambridge His preference for his Latin poems An example of filial tenderness His 'Elegy.' ----, May (Lord Byron's nurse) Greece, past and present condition of Small extent of Greek islands, resources for an emigrant population in Greeks, character of the Cause of the purity with which they wrote their own language Gregson, the pugilist Grenville (William Wyndham), Lord Greville, Colonel, challenges Lord Byron for an insinuation in 'English Bards.' Grey, Charles (afterwards Earl Grey), his oratory See also Grey de Ruthven, Lord, Newstead Abbey let to him Grillparzer, his tragedy of Sappho Character of his writings Grimaldi, Joseph, Covent Garden clown Grimm, Baron His 'Correspondence' as valuable as Muratori or Tiraboschi Grindenwald, the 'Grongar Hill,' Dyer's Guerrino, a picture of his at Milan Guiccioli, Count ----, Countess, her first introduction to Lord Byron attacked with fever sincerity of Lord Byron's attachment to her accompanies Lord Byron to Venice disinterestedness of her conduct, and returns with the Count to Ravenna Lord Byron follows her efforts for a separation the Pope pronounces for it the Countess retires to her father's villa arrest of her father and brother Shelley's opinion of her connexion with Lord Byron her intercession for the discontinuance of Don Juan Lord Byron's unwilling departure for Greece his letters to the Countess from Greece See also Guildford, Earl of Guinguene, P.L. Gulley, John, the pugilist (in 1832 M. P. for Pontefract)

H.

Hafiz, the oriental Anacreon Hailstone, Professor Hall, Captain Basil, Lord Byron's attention to his letter to Hamilton, Lady Dalrymple Hancock, Charles, esq. Lord Byron's letters to Hannibal, saying of Hanson, John, esq. (Lord Byron's solicitor) ----, Miss (afterwards Countess of Portsmouth) Lord Byron's presence at her marriage 'Hardyknute,' the fine poem so called Harrington, Earl of. See Stanhope ----, Countess of. See Foote Harley, Lady Charlotte (the 'lanthe' to whom the first and second cantos of 'Childe Harold' are dedicated) ----, Lady Jane Harness, Rev. William His sermons quoted Lord Byron's letters to Harris, his 'Philosophical Inquiries' Harrow, Lord Byron's entrance at his first Harrow verses his magnanimity in behalf of his friend Peel 'Byron's tomb' his attachment to Harrow Harrowby, Earl of Harrowgate, Lord Byron's visit to Hartington, Marquis of (afterwards sixth Duke of Devonshire) Harvey, Mrs. Jane Hatchard, Mr. John Hawke (Edward Harvey), third Lord Hay, Captain Hayley, his 'Triumphs of Temper,' Lord Byron's eulogy of Hayreddin Hazlitt, William, his style Headfort, Marchioness of 'HEBREW MELODIES' Helen, 'LINES on Canova's bust of' Hellespont, Lord Byron's swimming feat from Sestos to Abydos Hemans, Mrs., her 'Restoration' Character of her poetry Henley, Orator Herbert of Cherbury, Lord, his life much interested Lord Byron Hero and Leander Hill, Aaron 'Hills of Annesley, bleak and barren.' 'HINTS FROM HORACE,' written at Athens first produced to Mr. Dallas singular preference given by the author to them See also Hippopotamus at Exeter Change Historians, list of, perused by Lord Byron at nineteen Hoare, Mr., Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow Hobbes, Thomas Hobhouse, Right Hon. Henry ----, Right Hon. Sir John Cam, Bart., his 'Journey through Albania' quoted His 'Historical Notes to Childe Harold' Hodgson, Rev. Francis, Lord Byron's well-timed assistance to His 'Friends' Lord Byron's letters to See also Hogg, James, the Ettrick shepherd Holerott, Thomas, his 'Memoirs' Holderness, Lady Holland, Lord, the allusion to commencement of Lord Byron's acquaintance with his oratory Lord Byron's letters to Holland, Lady ----, Dr. Holmes, Mr., the miniature painter Homer, geography of, Visit to the school of Hope, Thomas, esq., his 'Anastasius' Hoppner, R B., esq., his account of Lord Byron's mode of life at Venice 'LINES on the birth of his son' Lord Byron's letters to see also Horace, Lord Byron's early dislike to Quoted 'Horace in London' See 'Hints from Horace' Horestan Castle, Derbyshire, held by Lord Byron's ancestors 'Horsæ Ionicæ Homer, Francis, esq. 'HOURS OF IDLENESS,' first publication of a review of another in the 'Critical Review,' furious philippic in the 'Eclectic' Critique of the Edinburgh Review Howard, Hon. Frederick Hume, David, his Essays His 'Treatise of Human Nature' Hunt, John ----, Leigh, Lord Byron's first acquaintance with Described His 'Rimini' His 'Foliage' His 'Byron and some of his Contemporaries' See also Hunter, P., esq. Hurd, Bishop, his remark on academical studies Hutchinson, Colonel, his Memoirs 'Huzza! Hodgson, we are going' Hymettus Hypochondriacism

I

Ida, mount Imagination Immortality of the soul Improvisatore, account of one at Milan 'Ina,' Mrs. Wilmot's tragedy of Inchbald, Mrs., her 'Simple Story' Her 'Nature and Art' Incledon, Charles, singer 'INEZ,' Stanzas to Interlachen Invention Iris, the 'IRISH AVATAR' Irving, Washington, esq. Italian manners Italians, bad translators, except from the classics Italy, the only modern nation in Europe that has a poetical language Ithaca, excursion to

J.

Jackson, 'John, the professor of pugilism Lord Byron's letters to Jacobson, M. 'Jacqueline,' Mr. Rogers's Jeffrey, Francis, esq., allusion to in 'English Bards' his duel with Mr. Moore his review of the 'Giaour' his criticisms on Lord Byron's works his review of Coleridge's 'Christabel' Jersey, Earl of ----, Countess of Jesus Christ Job Jocelyn, Lord, (afterwards Earl of Roden) Johnson, Dr. His prologue on opening Drury Lane theatre His 'Vanity of Human Wishes' His melancholy His 'Lives of the Poets' His 'London' Lord Byron's high opinion of him Jones, Mr., tutor at Cambridge ----, Richard, comedian Jordan, Mrs., actress Joukoffsky, the Russian poet Joy, Henry, esq., his visit to Byron Juliet's tomb See Romeo Julius Cæsar, his times Jungfrau, the Junius's letters 'Juno,' shipwreck of the Jura mountains Juvenal

K.

Kay, Mr., painter Kayo, Sir Richard Kean, Edmund, tragedian, his Richard the Third Lord Byron's enthusiastic admiration of Effect of his Sir Giles Over-reach on Keats, John, his poems Died through bursting a blood-vessel on reading the article on his 'Endymion' in the Quarterly Review His depreciation of Pope Kelly, Miss, actress Kemble, John Philip, esq., his Coriolanus His Hamlet Intreats Lord Byron to write a tragedy His acting described His Othello His Iago Kennedy, Dr., his 'Conversations on religion with Lord Byron in Cephalonia' Lord Byron's letters to Kent, Mr., his taste in gardening formed by Pope Kidd, Captain Strange story related to Lord Byron by Kien Long, his 'Ode to Tea' Kinnaird, Hon. Douglas Lord Byron's letters to Klopstock Knight, Galley, esq. His 'Persian Tales' Knox, Captain (British resident at Ithaca) Kosciusko, General Koran, sublime poetical passages in

L.

La Bruytère Lachin-y-gair Lago Maggiore Lake Leman Lake School of Poetry 'Lakers,' the 'Lalla Rookh' Lamartine, M. Lamb, Hon. George ----, Lady Caroline Her 'Glenarvon' 'LAMENT OF TASSO' Lansdowne, (Henry Fitzmaurice Pitty), fourth Marquis of 'LAKA; a Tale' Lauderdale, Earl of, his oratory Laura, her portrait La Valière, Madame Lavender, the Nottingham empiric Lawrence, Sir Thomas Leacroft, Mr. ----, Miss Leake, Colonel His 'Outlines of the Greek Revolution' Leandor and Hero Leckie, Gould Francis, esq. Leigh, Mr., Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow ----, Colonel ----, Hon. Augusta (Lord Byron's sister) Leinster, Duke of Leman, Lake Le Man, Mr. Leoni, Signor, his translation of Childe Harold Lepanto, Gulf of Lerici Leveson-Gower, Lady Charlotte (afterwards Countess of Surrey) Levis, Due de Lewis, Matthew Gregory, esq. 'Liberal,' the Liberty Life Likenesses Lisbon 'Lisbon packet' Liston, Sir Robert ----, John, comedian Little's Poems Liverpool, Earl of Livy Lloyd, Charles, esq. Lobster nights, Pope's and Lord Byron's Loch Leven Locke, his treatise on education His contempt for Oxford Lockhart, J.G., esq., his 'Life of Burns' His marriage with Miss Scott ----, Mrs. Lodburgh, his 'Death Song' Lofft, Capel Londo, Andrea, the Greek patriot Account of Lord Byron's letter to Londonderry (Robert Stewart), second Marquis of Long, Edward Noel, esq., Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow Long, Miss (afterwards Mrs. Long Pole Wellesley) Longevity Longmans, Messrs. Love, 'Not the principal passion for tragedy.' Success in, dependent on fortune Woman's Low spirits Lowe, Sir Hudson Lucretius Luc, Jean André de Ludlow, General, the regicide, his monument His domal inscription Lushington, Dr., his letter to Lady Byron Lutzerode, Baron Luxembourg, Maréchal Lyttleton, George, Lord. Lord Byron compared to ----, Thomas, Lord

M.

Machinery, effects of Mackenzie, Henry, esq., his notice of Lord Byron's early poems Mackintosh, Sir James, brightest of northern constellations his review of Rogers in the Edinburgh Review a rare instance of the union of very transcendent talent and great good nature his letter in the 'Morning Chronicle high expectation of his promised history strong impression made by him on Lord Byron Macnamara, Arthur, esq. Mafra, the palace of, the boast of Portugal Mahomet Maid of Athens Account of Maintenon, Madame letters Malamocco, wall of 'MANFRED; A DRAMATIC POEM,' finished extracts sent to Mr. Murray offered to him for 300 guineas a sort of mad Drama; instructions for its title the third act to be re-written new third act sent to Mr. Murray a critique on; omission of a line critique of the 'Edinburgh Review a menaced version of the poem Goethe's remarks on Mansel, Dr., Bishop of Bristol Manton gun, Lord Byron's 'Manuel,' Mathurin's Marden, Mrs., actress Marianna Segati 'MARINO FALIERO, DOGE of VENICE; an Historical Tragedy.' Intention to write the tragedy commenced advanced into the second act completed not intended for the stage Mr. Gifford's opinion of it a note to be introduced the author's talent 'especially undramatic a phrase to be altered the poem not popular lines to be introduced reported representation of the play and its condemnation a note for the next edition Marlow, his 'Faustus.' 'Marmion.' Marriage ceremony Marriages, great cause of unhappy ones 'Mary,' Lord Byron's love for the name ---- of Aberdeen Massaniello Materialism Mathews, Charles, comedian Mathurin, Rev. Charles His 'Bertram.' His 'Manuel,' Matlock, Lord Byron at Matter Matthews, John, esq., of Belmont, some account of ----, Charles Skinner, esq. Lord Byron's account of His visit to Newstead Tributes to his memory ----, Henry, esq. His 'Diary of an Invalid' Account of ----, Rev. Arthur Matthison, Frederic, his 'Letters from the Continent' Maugiron, epigram on the loss of his eye Mavrocordato, Prince Lord Byron's letters to Proclamation issued by him, on Lord Byron's death Mawman, Joseph, bookseller Mayfield, Mr. Moore's residence in Staffordshire 'MAZEPPA' Medicine, effects of, on the mind and spirits Medwin, Captain, his acquaintance with Lord Byron at Pisa Meillerie Melbourne, Lady Mendelsohn, his habitual melancholy Mengaldo, Chevalier Merivale, J.H., esq. His 'Roncesvalles' His review of 'Grimm's Correspondence' Lord Byron's letter to Metastasio Meyler, Richard, esq. Mezzophanti, 'a monster of languages' Milan cathedral Ambrosian library at Brera gallery Napoleon's triumphal arch State of society at Milbanke, Sir Ralph ----, Lady. See Noel ----, Miss (afterwards Lady Byron) See Byron Miller, Rev. Dr., his 'Essay on Probabilities' ----, William, bookseller, refuses to publish Childe Harold Millingen, Mr., His account of the consultation on Lord Byron's last illness Milman, Rev. Henry Hart, now Dean of St. Paul's, his 'Fazio' Milnes, Robert, esq. Milo Milton, his imitation of Ariosto His practice of dating his poems followed by Lord Byron His dislike to Cambridge His infelicitous marriage His disregard of painting and sculpture His politics kept him down His 'material thunder.' Mirabeau, his eloquence 'Mirra,' of Alfieri, effect of the representation of, on Lord Byron Missiaglia, Venetian bookseller Mistress, 'cannot be a friend Mitchell, T., esq., his translation of Aristophanes 'Mobility' Modern gardening, Pope the chief inventor of Moira, Earl of (afterwards Marquis of Hastings) Molière Monçada, Marquis 'Monk,' Lewis's, 'The philtered ideas of a jaded voluptuary' Mont Blanc Montague, Edward Wortley ----, Lady Mary Wortley, proposed Italian translation of her letters and new life of three pretty notes by her Pope's lines on her Montbovon 'Monthly Literary Recreations,' Lord Byron's review of Wordsworth's poems in Monti, his Aristodemo ----, account of Moore, Thomas, esq., his prefaces to his 'Life of Lord Byron,' His first acquaintance with Lord Byron Duel between Mr. Jeffrey and His person and manners described His poetry 'LINES on his last Operatic Farce or Farcical Opera' His 'Lalla Rookh' His 'Loves of the Angels' Lord Byron's letters to See also Moore, Peter, esq. Morgan, Lady Her 'Italy' ----, Lord Byron's school-fellow at Harrow 'MORGANTE MAGGIORE, of Pulci.' translation of the first canto commenced finished not a line to be omitted the author's opinion of it 'Morning Post' Morosini. his siege of Athens Mosaic chronology Mosti, Count Mother, future conduct of a child dependent on the Muir, Mr., letter to Mule, Mrs., Lord Byron's housemaid Müller, the historian Muloch, Muley His 'Atheism answered' Murat, Joachim, death of Muratori Murillo, Lord Byron's opinion of Murray, John, esq, his first connection with Lord Byron Childe Harold placed in his hands shows the poem to Mr. Gifford purchases the copyright 'The [Greek: anax] of publishers' recommended by Lord Byron to Mr. Moore as 'among the first of the trade,' offers 1000 guineas for the 'Giaour' and 'Bride of Abydos,' Lord Byron's high compliment to pays 1000 guineas for the 'Siege of Corinth' and 'Parisina' the 'Mokanna' of publishers' offers 1500 guineas for the 4th canto of 'Childe Harold' poetical epistle to 'Strahan, Tonson, Lintot, of the times' conduct to Mr. Moore Lord Byron's last letter to letters and allusions to, _passim_ Music, Lord Byron's love of simple See, also Musters, Mr. John, his marriage to Miss Chaworth Musters, Mrs. See Chaworth 'MY BOAT is on the shore' 'MY DEAR Mr. Murray'

N.

Napier, Colonel His testimony to the benevolence and soundness of Lord Byron's views with regard to Greece Naples, 'the second best sea view Napoleon. See Buonaparte Nathan, his 'Hebrew nasalities' Nature ----, 'PRAYER of.' 'Naufragia,' Clarke's Nelson, Southey's Life of Nepean, Mr. ----, Sir Evan Nerni Newstead, granted by Henry VIII. to Sir John Byron A prophecy of Mother Shipton's respecting Let to Lord Grey de Ruthen Lord Byron's affection for Description of, and of the noble owner Attempted sale of Nicopolis, ruins of Night Nobility of thought and style defined Noel, Lady Norfolk (Charles Howard), twelfth Duke of Nottingham frame breaking bill ----, Lord Byron's residence at 'Nourjahad,' a drama, falsely attributed to Lord Byron Novels

O.

Oak, the Byron 'ODE ON VENICE' O'Donnovan, P.M., his 'Sir Proteus.' 'OH! banish care.' 'OH! Memory, torture me no more.' O'Higgins, Mr., his Irish tragedy Olympus O'Neil, Miss, actress Orators, only two thorough ones 'Things of ages.' Orchomenus Orrery, Earl of, his Life of Swift quoted Osborne, Lord Sidney 'Otello,' Rossini's Otway, his three requisites for an Englishman His 'Beividera.' Ouchy Owenson, Miss See Morgan, Lady Oxford, Gibbon's bitter recollections of Dryden's praise of, at the expense of Cambridge Oxford, Earl of ----, Countess of

P.

'PARISINA,' 1000 guineas offered for it and the 'Siege of Corinth,' by Mr. Murray Fancied resemblance between part of the poem and a similar scene in 'Marmion.' Parker, Sir Peter, stanzas written by Lord Byron on his death ----, Lady ----, Margaret, Lord Byron's boyish love for Parkins, Miss Fanny PARLIAMENT, Lord Byron's Speeches in Parnassus, Lord Byron's visit to, and stanzas upon Parr, Dr. Parry, Captain Parruca, Signor, letter to Parthenon Pasquali, Padre Past, 'the best prophet of the future.' Paterson, Mr. (Lord Byron's tutor at Aberdeen) Patrons Paul, St., translation from the Armenian, of correspondence between the Corinthians and Paul's, St., Cathedral, comparison with St. Sophia's Pausanias, his 'Achaics' quoted Payne, Thomas, bookseller Peel, Right Hon. Sir Robert Lord Byron's form-fellow at Harrow ----, William, Esq., one of Lord Byron's friends Penelope, baths of, Lord Byron's visit to Penn, Granville, esq., his 'Bioscope, or Dial of Life, explained ----, William, the founder of Quakerism Perry, James, esq Petersburgh Petrarch, his literary and personal character interwoven His severity to his daughter In his youth a coxcomb His portrait in the Manfrini palace his popularity See also Phillips, Ambrose, his pastorals ----, S.M., esq ----, Thomas, esq., R.A Philosophers, celibacy of eminent Phoenix, Sheridan's story of the Physic Pictures Pierce Plowman Pigot, Miss Account of her first acquaintance with Lord Byron Lord Byron's letters to Pigot, Dr His account of Lord Byron's visit to Harrowgate Lord Byron's letters to Pigot, Mrs., Lord Byron's letter to Pigot, family Pindemonte, Ippolito, Lord Byron's portrait of Pitt, Rt. Hon. William Plagiarism Players, an impracticable people 'Pleasures of Hope.' 'Pleasures of Memory.' Plethora, abstinence the sole remedy for Poetry, distasteful to Byron when a boy When to be employed as the interpreter of feeling Addiction to, whence resulting New school of 'The feeling of a former world and future' Descriptive Ethical, 'the highest of all See also Poets, self-educated ones Lord Byron's list of celebrated poets of all nations Unfitted for the calm affections and comforts of domestic life Querulous and monotonous lives of Female See also Polidori, Dr. Some account of Anecdotes of His 'Vampire His tragedy Political consistency Politics Pomponius Atticus Pope, Alexander, a self-educated poet Lord Byron's enthusiastic admiration of His youth and Byron's compared An example of filial tenderness His Prologue to Cato His ineffable distance above all modern poets The parent of real English poetry Atrocious cant and nonsense about The Christianity of English poetry Ten times more poetry in his 'Essay on Man' than in the 'Excursion' Keats' depreciation of The most faultless of poets His imagery The greatest name in our poetry His Essay upon Phillips's Pastorals a model of irony The principal inventor of modern gardening His 'Homer' 'LETTER ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF,' SECOND LETTER See, also Porson, Professor, his 'Devil's Walk' Lord Byron's recollection of Portrait painter, agonies of a Pouqueville, M. de Powerscourt, Lord, one of Lord Byron's friends Pratt, Samuel Jackson Priestley, Dr., his Christian materialism Prince Regent Lord Byron's introduction to See George IV. Prior's Paulo Purgante 'PRISONER OF CHILLON' Probabilities, Dr. Miller's Essay on Probationary Odes Prologues, 'only two decent ones in our language' 'PROMETHEUS,' of Æschylus 'PROPHECY OF DANTE Prophets Pulci, his 'Morgante Maggiore' 'Sire of the half serious rhyme' Punctuation

Q.

Quarrels of Authors, D'Israeli's Quarterly Review 'Quentin Durward'

R.

Rae, John, comedian Rainsford, Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow Rancliffe, Lord Raphael, his hair Rashleigh, Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow Ravenna Raymond, James Grant, comedian Reading, the love of Regnard, his hypochondriacism Reinagle, R.R., his chained eagle 'Rejected Addresses,' 'the best of the kind since the Rolliad,' ----, the Genuine Republics Reviewers Reviews Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 'not good in history' Reynolds, J.H., his 'Safie' 'Ricciardetto,' Lord Glenbervie's translation of Rice, Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow Richardson, 'the vainest and luckiest of authors' Riddel, Lady, her masquerade at Bath, at which Lord Byron appeared Ridge, printer Riga, the Greek patriot Roberts, Mr. (editor of the British Review) Robins, George, auctioneer Robinson Crusoe, the first part said to be written by Lord Oxford Rocca, M. de Rochdale estate Rochefoucault, 'always right' Sayings of Rogers, Samuel, esq., his 'Pleasures of Memory' His 'Jacqueline' 'The Tithonus of poetry' 'The father of present poesy' His Tribute to the memory of Lord Byron Lord Byron's letters to See also ----, Mr., of Nottingham (Lord Byron's Latin tutor) Rokeby, Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow Roman Catholic religion Romanelli, physician Rome, 'the wonderful' Finer than Greece Romeo and Juliet, the story of Rose, William Stewart, esq., his 'Animali' His 'Lines to Lord Byron' Rose glaciers 'Rose-water' Ross, Rev. Mr. (Lord Byron's tutor at Aberdeen) Rossini, his 'Otello' Roscoe, Mr Rossoe, Mr., story of Roufigny, Abbé de Rousseau, Jean Jacques, Lord Byron's resemblance to Comparison between Lord Byron and His marriage His 'Héloïse' His 'Confessions' Force and accuracy of his descriptions Rowcroft, Mr Royston, Lord Byron's school-fellow at Harrow Rubens, his style Rushton, Robert (the 'little page' in Childe Harold) Lord Byron's letters to 'Ruminator,' the, by Sir Egerton Brydges Rusponi, Countess Russell, Lord John Rycaut, his 'History of the Turks' first drew Lord Byron's attention to the East See, also

S.

St. Lambert, his imitation of Thomson Sanders, Mr., his portraits of Lord Byron 'Sappho,' of Grillparzer 'SARDANAPALUS,' outline of the Tragedy sketched Four acts completed The play finished A disparagement of it Sarrazin, General Satan, Lord Byron's opinion of his real appearance to the Creator 'Satirist' Scaligers, tomb of the Scamander Schiller, his 'Thirty years War' His 'Robbers' His 'Fiesco' His 'Ghost-seer' Schlegel, Frederick, his writings Anecdotes of 'School for Scandal' School of Homer, Lord Byron's visit to Scotland, the impressions on Lord Byron's mind by the mountain scenery of Lord Byron 'Half a Scot by birth and bred a whole one' 'A canny Scot till ten years' old' Scott, Sir Walter, his dog 'Maida' His 'Rokeby' The 'monarch of Parnassus' His 'Lives of the Novelists' His 'Waverley' His first acquaintance with Byron His 'Antiquary' His review of 'Childe Harold' in the Quarterly His 'Tales of my Landlord' 'The Ariosto of the North' The first British poet titled for his talent His 'Ivanhoe' His 'Monastery' His 'Abbot' His imitators The 'Scotch Fielding' His countenance His novels 'a new literature in themselves' His 'Kenilworth' His 'Life of Swift' Lord Byron's letters to See, also Scott, Mr., of Aberdeen ----, Mr. Alexander ----, Mr. John 'Scotticisms' Scriptures, Lord Byron's knowledge of the See, also, Bible 'Scourge,' proceedings against the, for a libel on Mrs. Byron Sculpture, the most artificial of the arts Its superiority to painting More poetical than nature Sécheron Self-educated poets Sensibility Separation, miseries of Seraglio at Constantinople, description of Sestos Settle, Elkanah, his 'Emperor of Morocco' 'Seven before Thebes' Seville Seward, Anne, her 'Life of Darwin' 'Sexagenarian,' Beloe's 'Shah Nameh,' the Persian Iliad Shakspeare, his infelicitous marriage 'The worst of models' 'Will have his decline' Sharp, William (the engraver, and disciple of Joanna Southcote) Sharpe, Richard, esq. (the 'Conversationist') Sheil, Richard, esq. Sheldrake, Mr. Shelley, Percy Bysshe, esq., his 'Queen Mab' His portrait of Lord Byron Particulars concerning His visit to Lord Byron at Ravenna His praise of Don Juan Lord Byron's letters to His letters to Lord Byron See also ----, Mrs. Her 'Frankenstein' Lord Byron's letters to Shepherd, Rev. John, his letter enclosing his wife's prayer on Lord Byron's behalf Lord Byron's answer Sheridan, Right Hon. Richard Brinsley, anecdotes of And Colman compared His eloquence His conversation 'Whatever he did, was the best of its kind' Defence of His phoenix story 'MONODY on the Death of' 'Shipwreck,' Falconer's Shoel, Mr. Shreikhorn Shrewsbury, Earl of, his letter to Sir John Byron's grandson Siddons, Mrs., her performance of the character of Isabella Lord Byron's praise of Effect of her acting at Edinburgh An allusion to 'SIEGE OF CORINTH' Sigeum, Cape Simplon, the Sinclair, George, esq., 'the prodigy' of Harrow School Sirmium 'Sir Proteus,' a satirical ballad 'SKETCH,' a Skull-cup Slave trade Slavery Sligo, Marquis of His letter on the origin of the 'Giaour' Smart, Christopher Smith, Sir Henry ----, Horace, esq., his 'Horace in London' ----, Mrs. Spencer. See 'Florence.' ----, Miss (afterwards Mrs. Oscar Byrne), dancer Smyrna, Lord Byron's stay at Smythe, Professor Socrates Sonnets, 'the most puling, petrifying, stupidly platonic compositions,' Sorelli, his translation of Grillparzer's 'Sappho' Sotheby, William, esq., his tragedies his 'Ivan' accepted for Drury Lane Theatre similarity of a passage in 'Ivan' to one in the 'Corsair' a 'row' about 'Ivan' the Æschylus of the age his 'Orestes' See also Lord Byron's letters to Southcote, Joanna Southey, Robert, esq., LL.D., his person and manners His prose and poetry His 'Roderick' his 'Curse of Kehama' Lord Byron's intention to dedicate 'Don Juan' to him his 'Joan of Arc' would have been better in rhyme See also Southwell, Notts, Lord Byron's residence at Southwood, on the Divine Government SPEECHES IN PARLIAMENT, Lord Byron's Spence's Anecdotes (Singer's edition) Spencer, Dowager Lady ----, William, esq. ----, Countess Spenser, Edmund, his measure Stäel, Madame de, her essay against suicide Her 'De l'Allemagne' Her personal appearance Her death Notes written by Lord Byron in her 'Corinne' See also Stafford, Marquis of (now Duke of Sutherland) Stafford, Marchioness of (now Duchess of Sutherland) Stanhope, Hon. Col. Leicester, (now Earl of Harrington) his arrival in Greece to assist in effecting its liberation His 'Greece in 1823-1824' Lord Byron's letters to ----, Lady Hester, Lord Byron taken to task by Steele, Sir Richard Stella, Swift's Sterne, his affected sensibility Stephenson, Sir John Stockhorn Storm, aspect of one in the Archipelago 'STRAHAN, Tonson, Lintot of the times' Strangford, Lord, his 'Camoens' Strong, Mr., Lord Byron's school-fellow at Harrow Stuart, Sir Charles (now Lord Stuart de Rothsay) Suleyman, of Thebes 'Sunshiny day' Supernatural appearances Suppers lobster nights 'Sweet Florence, could another ever share' Swift, Dr. Jonathan Similarity between the character of Lord Byron and Gave away his copyrights His Stella and Vanessa Swoon, the sensation described Sylla Symplegades Switzerland and the Swiss

T.

Taaffe, Mr. His 'Commentary on Dante' Tahiri, Dervise 'Tales of my Landlord' Tasso, an expert swordsman and dancer an example of filial tenderness his imprisonment his popularity in his lifetime remade the whole of his 'Jerusalem' his sensitiveness to public favour 'LAMENT of' Tattersall, Rev. John Cecil (Lord Byron's school acquaintance) Tavernier, the eastern traveller, his château at Aubonne Tavistock, Marquis of Taylor. John, esq., Lord Byron's letter to in respect of an allusion to Lady Byron in the 'Sun' newspaper Teeth Temple, Sir William, his opinion of poetry Tepaleen Terni, Falls of Terry, Daniel, comedian Theatricals, private, at Southwell Thirst 'This day of all our days has done' Thomas of Ercildoune Thompson, Mr. Thomson, James, the poet, his 'Seasons' would have been better in rhyme Thorwaldsen, the sculptor, his bust of Lord Byron 'THOUGH the day of my destiny's o'er' Thoun 'THROUGH life's dull road, so dim and dirty' Thurlow (Thomas Hovell Thurlow) second Lord Thyrza Tiberius Tiraboschi ''Tis done and shivering in the gale.' Lord Byron's stanzas to Mrs. Musters on leaving England Titian, his portrait of Ariosto His pictures at Florence Toderinus, his 'Storia della Letteratura Turchesca' Town life Townshend, Rev. George, his 'Armageddon' Travelling, Lord Byron's opinion of the advantages of Travis, the Venetian Jew Trelawney, Edward, esq. Troad, the Troy Authenticity of the tale of Tuite, Lady, her stanzas to Memory Tally's 'Tripoli' Turkey, women of Turner, W., esq., his 'Tour in the Levant' Twiss, Horace, esq. Tyranny

U.

Ulissipont Unities, the Usurers

V.

Vacca, Dr. Valentia, Lord (now Earl of Mountnorris) Valière, Madame la 'VAMPIRE, The, a Fragment' Superstition Vanbrugh, his comedies Vanessa, Swift's 'Vanity of Human Wishes,' Johnson's Vascillie 'Vathek' 'VAULT REFLECTIONS' Velasquez Veli Pacha Venetian dialect Venice, the gondolas St. Mark's Theatres Women Carnival Morals and manners in Nobility of Riaito Manfrini palace Bridge of Sighs 'VENICE, Ode on' Venus de Medici, more for admiration than love Verona, how much Catullus, Claudian, and Shakspeare have done for it Amphitheatre of Juliet's tomb at Tombs of the Scaligers Versatility Vestris, Italian comedian Vevay Vicar of Wakefield Voltaire, gave away his copyrights D'Argenson's advice to Voluptuary Vondel, the Dutch Shakspeare Vostizza Vulgarity of style

W.

Waite, Mr. (Lord Byron's dentist) Wales, Princess of (afterwards Queen Caroline) Wallace, the Scottish chief Wallace-nook Walpole, Sir Robert, his conversation at table 'WALTZ, THE; an Apostrophic Hymn' The authorship of it denied by Lord Byron Ward, Hon. John William (afterwards Earl of Dudley), his review of Horne Tooke's Life in the Quarterly His style of speaking Lord Byron's pun on His review of Fox's Correspondence Epigrams on Warren, Sir John Washington, George Waterloo, Lord Byron's verses on the battle of Wathen, Mr. Watier's club 'Waverley,' character of Way, William, esq. Webster, Sir Godfrey Webster, Wedderburn, esq. 'WEEP, daughter of a royal line' Wellesley, Sir Arthur. See Wellington ----, Richard, esq. Wellington, Duke of, 'the Scipio of our Hannibal' Wengen Alps Wentworth, Lord 'WERNER; or, THE INHERITANCE; a Tragedy' 'Werther,' Goethe's effects of Mad. de Stäel's character of West, Mr. (American artist), his conversations with Lord Byron Westall, Richard, esq.. R.A. Westminster Abbey Westmoreland, Lady Wetterhorn 'What matter the pangs' 'When man expelled from Eden's bowers' 'When Time, who steals our years away' Whigs 'Whistlecraft' Whitbread, Samuel, esq. 'The Demosthenes of bad taste' Whitby, Captain White, Henry Kirke, esq. ----, Lydia 'White Lady of Avenel' 'White Lady of Colalto' 'Who killed John Keats?' 'Why, how now, saucy Tom?' Wieland His history of 'Agathon' Resemblance between Byron and Wilberforce, William, esq., his style of speaking Personified by Sheridan Wildman, Thomas, esq. ----, Colonel, present proprietor of Newstead Wilkes, John, esq. Will, Lord Byron's His last Williams, Captain Williams, Mrs., the fortune-teller, her prediction concerning Byron Wilmot, Mrs., her tragedy Wilson, Professor Windham, Right Hon. William 'WINDSOR POETICS' Wingfield, Hon. John His death Women, society of Cannot write tragedy State of, under the ancient Greeks Woodhouselee, Lord, his opinion of Lord Byron's early poems Woolriche, Dr. Wordsworth, William, esq., Lord Byron's review of his early poems The allusion to His 'Excursion' His powers to do 'anything' Influence of his poetry on Lord Byron Never vulgar See also Wrangham, Rev. Francis Wright, Walter Rodwell, esq., his 'Horæ Ionicæ' Writers, tragic, generally mirthful persons

Y.

Yanina York, Duke of Young, Dr. E. Yussuff, Pacha Yverdun

Z.

Zitza Zograffo, Demetrius

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's Life of Lord Byron, Vol. 6 (of 6), by Thomas Moore