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Title: Life of Lord Byron, Vol. 6 (of 6) - With his Letters and Journals
Author: Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852
Language: English
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February, 1823, to his Death in April, 1824










       *       *       *       *       *


"Genoa, February 20. 1823.

"My Dear Tom,

"I must again refer you to those two letters addressed to you at
Passy before I read your speech in Galignani, &c., and which you do
not seem to have received.[1]

[Footnote 1: I was never lucky enough to recover these two letters,
though frequent enquiries were made about them at the French

"Of Hunt I see little--once a month or so, and then on his own
business, generally. You may easily suppose that I know too little of
Hampstead and his satellites to have much communion or community with
him. My whole present relation to him arose from Shelley's unexpected
wreck. You would not have had me leave him in the street with his
family, would you? and as to the other plan you mention, you forget
how it would _humiliate_ him--that his writings should be supposed to
be dead weight![1] Think a moment--he is perhaps the vainest man on
earth, at least his own friends say so pretty loudly; and if he were
in other circumstances, I might be tempted to take him down a peg;
but not now,--it would be cruel. It is a cursed business; but neither
the motive nor the means rest upon my conscience, and it happens that
he and his brother _have_ been so far benefited by the publication in
a pecuniary point of view. His brother is a steady, bold fellow, such
as _Prynne_, for example, and full of moral, and, I hear, physical

[Footnote 1: The passage in one of my letters to which he here refers
shall be given presently.]

"And _you_ are _really_ recanting, or softening to the clergy! It
will do little good for you--it is _you_, not the poem, they are at.
They will say they frightened you--forbid it, Ireland!

"Yours ever,


Lord Byron had now, for some time, as may be collected from his
letters, begun to fancy that his reputation in England was on the
wane. The same thirst after fame, with the same sensitiveness to
every passing change of popular favour, which led Tasso at last to
look upon himself as the most despised of writers[1], had more than
once disposed Lord Byron, in the midst of all his triumphs, if not to
doubt their reality, at least to distrust their continuance; and
sometimes even, with that painful skill which sensibility supplies,
to extract out of the brightest tributes of success some omen of
future failure, or symptom of decline. New successes, however, still
came to dissipate these bodings of diffidence; nor was it till after
his unlucky coalition with Mr. Hunt in the Liberal, that any grounds
for such a suspicion of his having declined in public favour showed

[Footnote 1: In one of his letters this poet says:--"Non posso negare
che io mi doglio oltramisura di esser stato tanto disprezzato dal
mondo quanto non e altro scrittore di questo secolo." In another
letter, however, after complaining of being "perseguitato da molti
più che non era convenevole," he adds, with a proud prescience of his
future fame, "Laondé stimo di poter mene ragionevolmente richiamare
alla posterità."]

The chief inducements, on the part of Lord Byron, to this unworthy
alliance were, in the first place, a wish to second the kind views of
his friend Shelley in inviting Mr. Hunt to join him in Italy; and, in
the next, a desire to avail himself of the aid of one so experienced,
as an editor, in the favourite project he had now so long
contemplated, of a periodical work, in which all the various
offspring of his genius might be received fast as they sprung to
light. With such opinions, however, as he had long entertained of Mr.
Hunt's character and talents[1], the facility with which he now
admitted him--_not_ certainly to any degree of confidence or
intimacy, but to a declared fellowship of fame and interest in the
eyes of the world, is, I own, an inconsistency not easily to be
accounted for, and argued, at all events, a strong confidence in the
antidotal power of his own name to resist the ridicule of such an

[Footnote 1: See Letter 317. p. 103.]

As long as Shelley lived, the regard which Lord Byron entertained for
him extended its influence also over his relations with his friend;
the suavity and good-breeding of Shelley interposing a sort of
softening medium in the way of those unpleasant collisions which
afterwards took place, and which, from what is known of both parties,
may be easily conceived to have been alike trying to the patience of
the patron and the vanity of the dependent. That even, however,
during the lifetime of their common friend, there had occurred some
of those humiliating misunderstandings which money
engenders,--humiliating on both sides, as if from the very nature of
the dross that gives rise to them,--will appear from the following
letter of Shelley's which I find among the papers in my hands.


"February 15. 1823.

"My dear Lord Byron.

"I enclose you a letter from Hunt, which annoys me on more than one
account. You will observe the postscript, and you know me well enough
to feel how painful a task is set me in commenting upon it. Hunt had
urged me more than once to ask you to lend him this money. My answer
consisted in sending him all I could spare, which I have now
literally done. Your kindness in fitting up a part of your own house
for his accommodation I sensibly felt, and willingly accepted from
you on his part, but, believe me, without the slightest intention of
imposing, or, if I could help it, allowing to be imposed, any heavier
task on your purse. As it has come to this in spite of my exertions,
I will not conceal from you the low ebb of my own money affairs in
the present moment,--that is, my absolute incapacity of assisting
Hunt farther.

"I do not think poor Hunt's promise to pay in a given time is worth
very much; but mine is less subject to uncertainty, and I should be
happy to be responsible for any engagement he may have proposed to
you. I am so much annoyed by this subject that I hardly know what to
write, and much less what to say; and I have need of all your
indulgence in judging both my feelings and expressions.

"I shall see you by and by. Believe me

"Yours most faithfully and sincerely,


Of the book in which Mr. Hunt has thought it decent to revenge upon
the dead the pain of those obligations he had, in his hour of need,
accepted from the living, I am luckily saved from the distaste of
speaking at any length, by the utter and most deserved oblivion into
which his volume has fallen. Never, indeed, was the right feeling of
the world upon such subjects more creditably displayed than in the
reception given universally to that ungenerous book;--even those the
least disposed to think approvingly of Lord Byron having shrunk back
from such a corroboration of their own opinion as could be afforded
by one who did not blush to derive his authority, as an accuser, from
those facilities of observation which he had enjoyed by having been
sheltered and fed under the very roof of the man whom he maligned.

With respect to the hostile feeling manifested in Mr. Hunt's work
towards myself, the sole revenge I shall take is, to lay before my
readers the passage in one of my letters which provoked it; and which
may claim, at least, the merit of not being a covert attack, as
throughout the whole of my remonstrances to Lord Byron on the subject
of his new literary allies, not a line did I ever write respecting
either Mr. Shelley or Mr. Hunt which I was not fully prepared, from
long knowledge of my correspondent, to find that he had instantly,
and as a matter of course, communicated to them. That this want of
retention was a fault in my noble friend, I am not inclined to deny;
but, being undisguised, it was easily guarded against, and, when
guarded against, harmless. Besides, such is the penalty generally to
be paid for frankness of character; and they who could have flattered
themselves that one so open about his own affairs as Lord Byron would
be much more discreet where the confidences of others were concerned,
would have had their own imprudence, not his, to blame for any injury
that their dependence upon his secrecy had brought on them.

The following is the passage, which Lord Byron, as I take for
granted, showed to Mr. Hunt, and to which one of his letters to
myself (February 20.) refers:--

"I am most anxious to know that you mean to emerge out of the
Liberal. It grieves me to urge any thing so much against Hunt's
interest; but I should not hesitate to use the same language to
himself, were I near him. I would, if I were you, serve him in every
possible way but this--I would give him (if he would accept of it)
the profits of the same works, published separately--but I would
_not_ mix myself up in this way with others. I would _not_ become a
partner in this sort of miscellaneous '_pot au feu_,' where the bad
flavour of one ingredient is sure to taint all the rest. I would be,
if I were _you_, alone, single-handed, and, as such, invincible."

While on the subject of Mr. Hunt, I shall avail myself of the
opportunity it affords me of introducing some portions of a letter
addressed to a friend of that gentleman by Lord Byron, in consequence
of an appeal made to the feelings of the latter on the score of his
professed "friendship" for Mr. Hunt. The avowals he here makes are, I
own, startling, and must be taken with more than the usual allowance,
not only for the particular mood of temper or spirits in which the
letter was written, but for the influence also of such slight casual
piques and resentments as might have been, just then, in their
darkening transit through his mind,--indisposing him, for the moment,
to those among his friends whom, in a sunnier mood, he would have
proclaimed as his most chosen and dearest.

LETTER 509. TO MRS. ----.

"I presume that you, at least, know enough of me to be sure that I
could have no intention to insult Hunt's poverty. On the contrary, I
honour him for it; for I know what it is, having been as much
embarrassed as ever he was, without perceiving aught in it to
diminish an honourable man's self-respect. If you mean to say that,
had he been a wealthy man, I would have joined in this Journal, I
answer in the negative. * * * I engaged in the Journal from good-will
towards him, added to respect for his character, literary and
personal; and no less for his political courage, as well as regret
for his present circumstances: I did this in the hope that he might,
with the same aid from literary friends of literary contributions
(which is requisite for all journals of a mixed nature), render
himself independent.

"I have always treated him, in our personal intercourse, with such
scrupulous delicacy, that I have forborne intruding advice which I
thought might be disagreeable, lest he should impute it to what is
called 'taking advantage of a man's situation.'

"As to friendship, it is a propensity in which my genius is very
limited. I do not know the _male_ human being, except Lord Clare, the
friend of my infancy, for whom I feel any thing that deserves the
name. All my others are men-of-the-world friendships. I did not even
feel it for Shelley, however much I admired and esteemed him, so that
you see not even vanity could bribe me into it, for, of all men,
Shelley thought highest of my talents,--and, perhaps, of my

"I will do my duty by my intimates, upon the principle of doing as
you would be done by. I have done so, I trust, in most instances. I
may be pleased with their conversation--rejoice in their success--be
glad to do them service, or to receive their counsel and assistance
in return. But as for friends and friendship, I have (as I already
said) named the only remaining male for whom I feel any thing of the
kind, excepting, perhaps, Thomas Moore. I have had, and may have
still, a thousand friends, as they are called, in _life_, who are
like one's partners in the waltz of this world--not much remembered
when the ball is over, though very pleasant for the time. Habit,
business, and companionship in pleasure or in pain, are links of a
similar kind, and the same faith in politics is another." * * *

LETTER 510. TO LADY ----.

"Genoa, March 28. 1823.

"Mr. Hill is here: I dined with him on Saturday before last; and on
leaving his house at S. P. d'Arena, my carriage broke down. I walked
home, about three miles,--no very great feat of pedestrianism; but
either the coming out of hot rooms into a bleak wind chilled me, or
the walking up-hill to Albaro heated me, or something or other set me
wrong, and next day I had an inflammatory attack in the face, to
which I have been subject this winter for the first time, and I
suffered a good deal of pain, but no peril. My health is now much as
usual. Mr. Hill is, I believe, occupied with his diplomacy. I shall
give him your message when I see him again.

"My name, I see in the papers, has been dragged into the unhappy
Portsmouth business, of which all that I know is very succinct. Mr.
H---- is my solicitor. I found him so when I was ten years old--at my
uncle's death--and he was continued in the management of my legal
business. He asked me, by a civil epistle, as an old acquaintance of
his family, to be present at the marriage of Miss H----. I went very
reluctantly, one misty morning (for I had been up at two balls all
night), to witness the ceremony, which I could not very well refuse
without affronting a man who had never offended me. I saw nothing
particular in the marriage. Of course I could not know the
preliminaries, except from what he said, not having been present at
the wooing, nor after it, for I walked home, and they went into the
country as soon as they had promised and vowed. Out of this simple
fact I hear the Debats de Paris has quoted Miss H. as 'autrefois trés
liée avec le célebre,' &c. &c. I am obliged to him for the celebrity,
but beg leave to decline the liaison, which is quite untrue; my
liaison was with the father, in the unsentimental shape of long
lawyers' bills, through the medium of which I have had to pay him ten
or twelve thousand pounds within these few years. She was not pretty,
and I suspect that the indefatigable Mr. A---- was (like all her
people) more attracted by her title than her charms. I regret very
much that I was present at the prologue to the happy state of
horse-whipping and black jobs, &c. &c.; but I could not foresee that
a man was to turn out mad, who had gone about the world for fifty
years, as competent to vote, and walk at large; nor did he seem to me
more insane than any other person going to be married.

"I have no objection to be acquainted with the Marquis Palavicini, if
he wishes it. Lately I have gone little into society, English or
foreign, for I had seen all that was worth seeing in the former
before I left England, and at the time of life when I was more
disposed to like it; and of the latter I had a sufficiency in the
first few years of my residence in Switzerland, chiefly at Madame de
Staël's, where I went sometimes, till I grew tired of _conversazioni_
and carnivals, with their appendages; and the bore is, that if you go
once, you are expected to be there daily, or rather nightly. I went
the round of the most noted soirées at Venice or elsewhere (where I
remained not any time) to the Benzona, and the Albrizzi, and the
Michelli, &c. &c. and to the Cardinals and the various potentates of
the Legation in Romagna, (that is, Ravenna,) and only receded for the
sake of quiet when I came into Tuscany. Besides, if I go into
society, I generally get, in the long run, into some scrape of some
kind or other, which don't occur in my solitude. However, I am pretty
well settled now, by time and temper, which is so far lucky, as it
prevents restlessness; but, as I said before, as an acquaintance of
yours, I will be ready and willing to know your friends. He may be a
sort of connection for aught I know; for a Palavicini, of _Bologna_,
I believe, married a distant relative of mine half a century ago. I
happen to know the fact, as he and his spouse had an annuity of five
hundred pounds on my uncle's property, which ceased at his demise;
though I recollect hearing they attempted, naturally enough, to make
it survive him. If I can do any thing for you here or elsewhere, pray
order, and be obeyed."


"Genoa, April 2. 1823.

"I have just seen some friends of yours, who paid me a visit
yesterday, which, in honour of them and of you, I returned
to-day;--as I reserve my bear-skin and teeth, and paws and claws, for
our enemies.

"I have also seen Henry F----, Lord H----'s son, whom I had not
looked upon since I left him a pretty, mild boy, without a neckcloth,
in a jacket, and in delicate health, seven long years agone, at the
period of mine eclipse--the third, I believe, as I have generally one
every two or three years. I think that he has the softest and most
amiable expression of countenance I ever saw, and manners
correspondent. If to those he can add hereditary talents, he will
keep the name of F---- in all its freshness for half a century more,
I hope. I speak from a transient glimpse--but I love still to yield
to such impressions; for I have ever found that those I liked longest
and best, I took to at first sight; and I always liked that
boy--perhaps, in part, from some resemblance in the less fortunate
part of our destinies--I mean, to avoid mistakes, his lameness. But
there is this difference, that _he_ appears a halting angel, who has
tripped against a star; whilst I am _Le Diable Boiteux_,--a
soubriquet, which I marvel that, amongst their various _nominis
umbræ_, the Orthodox have not hit upon.

"Your other allies, whom I have found very agreeable personages, are
Milor B---- and _épouse_, travelling with a very handsome companion,
in the shape of a 'French Count' (to use Farquhar's phrase in the
Beaux Stratagem), who has all the air of a _Cupidon déchainé_, and is
one of the few specimens I have seen of our ideal of a Frenchman
_before_ the Revolution--an old friend with a new face, upon whose
like I never thought that we should look again. Miladi seems highly
literary,--to which, and your honour's acquaintance with the family,
I attribute the pleasure of having seen them. She is also very
pretty, even in a morning,--a species of beauty on which the sun of
Italy does not shine so frequently as the chandelier. Certainly,
English-women wear better than their continental neighbours of the
same sex. M---- seems very good-natured, but is much tamed, since I
recollect him in all the glory of gems and snuff-boxes, and uniforms,
and theatricals, and speeches in our house--'I mean, of peers,'--(I
must refer you to Pope--who you don't read and won't appreciate--for
that quotation, which you must allow to be poetical,) and sitting to
Stroeling, the painter, (do you remember our visit, with Leckie, to
the German?) to be depicted as one of the heroes of Agincourt, 'with
his long sword, saddle, bridle, Whack fal de, &c. &c.'

"I have been unwell--caught a cold and inflammation, which menaced a
conflagration, after dining with our ambassador, Monsieur Hill,--not
owing to the dinner, but my carriage broke down in the way home, and
I had to walk some miles, up hill partly, after hot rooms, in a very
bleak, windy evening, and over-hotted, or over-colded myself. I have
not been so robustious as formerly, ever since the last summer, when
I fell ill after a long swim in the Mediterranean, and have never
been quite right up to this present writing. I am thin,--perhaps
thinner than you saw me, when I was nearly transparent, in 1812,--and
am obliged to be moderate of my mouth; which, nevertheless, won't
prevent me (the gods willing) from dining with your friends the day
after to-morrow.

"They give me a very good account of you, and of your nearly
'Emprisoned Angels.' But why did you change your title?--you will
regret this some day. The bigots are not to be conciliated; and, if
they were--are they worth it? I suspect that I am a more orthodox
Christian than you are; and, whenever I see a real Christian, either
in practice or in theory, (for I never yet found the man who could
produce either, when put to the proof,) I am his disciple. But, till
then, I cannot truckle to tithe-mongers,--nor can I imagine what has
made _you_ circumcise your Seraphs.

"I have been far more persecuted than you, as you may judge by my
present decadence,--for I take it that I am as low in popularity and
book-selling as any writer can be. At least, so my friends assure
me--blessings on their benevolence! This they attribute to Hunt; but
they are wrong--it must be, partly at least, owing to myself; be it
so. As to Hunt, I prefer _not_ having turned him to starve in the
streets to any personal honour which might have accrued from such
genuine philanthropy. I really act upon principle in this matter, for
we have nothing much in common; and I cannot describe to you the
despairing sensation of trying to do something for a man who seems
incapable or unwilling to do any thing further for himself,--at
least, to the purpose. It is like pulling a man out of a river who
directly throws himself in again. For the last three or four years
Shelley assisted, and had once actually extricated him. I have since
his demise,--and even before,--done what I could: but it is not in my
power to make this permanent. I want Hunt to return to England, for
which I would furnish him with the means in comfort; and his
situation _there_, on the whole, is bettered, by the payment of a
portion of his debts, &c.; and he would be on the spot to continue
his Journal, or Journals, with his brother, who seems a sensible,
plain, sturdy, and enduring person." * *

The new intimacy of which he here announces the commencement, and
which it was gratifying to me, as the common friend of all, to find
that he had formed, was a source of much pleasure to him during the
stay of his noble acquaintances at Genoa. So long, indeed, had he
persuaded himself that his countrymen abroad all regarded him in no
other light than as an outlaw or a show, that every new instance he
met of friendly reception from them was as much a surprise as
pleasure to him; and it was evident that to his mind the revival of
English associations and habitudes always brought with it a sense of
refreshment, like that of inhaling his native air.

With the view of inducing these friends to prolong their stay at
Genoa, he suggested their taking a pretty villa called "Il Paradiso,"
in the neighbourhood of his own, and accompanied them to look at it.
Upon that occasion it was that, on the lady expressing some
intentions of residing there, he produced the following impromptu,
which--but for the purpose of showing that he was not so "chary of
his fame" as to fear failing in such trifles--I should have thought
hardly worth transcribing.

        "Beneath ----'s eyes
        The reclaim'd Paradise
  Should be free as the former from evil;
        But, if the new Eve
        For an apple should grieve,
  What mortal would not play the devil?"[1]

[Footnote 1: The Genoese wits had already applied this threadbare
jest to himself. Taking it into their heads that this villa (which
was also, I believe, a Casa Saluzzo) had been the one fixed on for
his own residence, they said "Il Diavolo é ancora entrato in

Another copy of verses addressed by him to the same lady, whose
beauty and talent might well have claimed a warmer tribute from such
a pen, is yet too interesting, as descriptive of the premature
feeling of age now stealing upon him, to be omitted in these pages.



  "You have ask'd for a verse:--the request
    In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny,
  But my Hippocrene was but my breast,
    And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.


  "Were I now as I was, I had sung
    What Lawrence has painted so well;
  But the strain would expire on my tongue,
    And the theme is too soft for my shell.


  "I am ashes where once I was fire,
    And the bard in my bosom is dead;
  What I loved I _now_ merely admire,
    And my heart is as grey as my head.


  "My life is not dated by years--
    There are _moments_ which act as a plough,
  And there is not a furrow appears
    But is deep in my soul as my brow.


  "Let the young and the brilliant aspire
    To sing what I gaze on in vain;
  For sorrow has torn from my lyre
    The string which was worthy the strain.


The following letters written during the stay of this party at Genoa
will be found,--some of them at least,--not a little curious.


"April 5. 1823.

"My dear Lord,

"How is your gout? or rather, how are you? I return the Count ----'s
Journal, which is a very extraordinary production[1], and of a most
melancholy truth in all that regards high life in England. I know, or
knew personally, most of the personages and societies which he
describes; and after reading his remarks, have the sensation fresh
upon me as if I had seen them yesterday. I would however plead in
behalf of some few exceptions, which I will mention by and by. The
most singular thing is, _how_ he should have penetrated _not_ the
_fact_, but the _mystery_ of the English ennui, at two-and-twenty. I
was about the same age when I made the same discovery, in almost
precisely the same circles,--(for there is scarcely a person
mentioned whom I did not see nightly or daily, and was acquainted
more or less intimately with most of them,)--but I never could have
described it so well. _Il faut étre Français_, to effect this.

[Footnote 1: In another letter to Lord B---- he says of this
gentleman, "he seems to have all the qualities requisite to have
figured in his brother-in-law's ancestor's Memoirs."]

"But he ought also to have been in the country during the hunting
season, with 'a select party of distinguished guests,' as the papers
term it. He ought to have seen the gentlemen after dinner (on the
hunting days), and the soiree ensuing thereupon,--and the women
looking as if they had hunted, or rather been hunted; and I could
have wished that he had been at a dinner in town, which I recollect
at Lord C----'s--small, but select, and composed of the most amusing
people. The dessert was hardly on the table, when, out of twelve, I
counted _five asleep_; of that five, there were _Tierney_, Lord ----,
and Lord ---- --I forget the other two, but they were either wits or
orators--perhaps poets.

"My residence in the East and in Italy has made me somewhat indulgent
of the siesta;--but then they set regularly about it in warm
countries, and perform it in solitude (or at most in a tête-à-tête
with a proper companion), and retire quietly to their rooms to get
out of the sun's way for an hour or two.

"Altogether, your friend's Journal is a very formidable production.
Alas! our dearly beloved countrymen have only discovered that they
are tired, and not that they are tiresome; and I suspect that the
communication of the latter unpleasant verity will not be better
received than truths usually are. I have read the whole with great
attention and instruction. I am too good a patriot to say
_pleasure_--at least I won't say so, whatever I may think. I showed
it (I hope no breach of confidence) to a young Italian lady of rank,
_très instruite_ also; and who passes, or passed, for being one of
the three most celebrated belles in the district of Italy, where her
family and connections resided in less troublesome times as to
politics, (which is not Genoa, by the way,) and she was delighted
with it, and says that she has derived a better notion of English
society from it than from all Madame de Staël's metaphysical
disputations on the same subject, in her work on the Revolution. I
beg that you will thank the young philosopher, and make my
compliments to Lady B. and her sister.

"Believe me your very obliged and faithful

"N. B.

"P.S. There is a rumour in letters of some disturbance or complot in
the French Pyrenean army--generals suspected or dismissed, and
ministers of war travelling to see what's the matter. 'Marry (as
David says), this hath an angry favour.'

"Tell Count ---- that some of the names are not quite intelligible,
especially of the clubs; he speaks of _Watts_--perhaps he is right,
but in my time _Watiers_ was the Dandy Club, of which (though no
dandy) I was a member, at the time too of its greatest glory, when
Brummell and Mildmay, Alvanley and Pierrepoint, gave the Dandy Balls;
and we (the club, that is,) got up the famous masquerade at
Burlington House and Garden, for Wellington. He does not speak of the
_Alfred_, which was the most _recherché_ and most tiresome of any, as
I know by being a member of that too."


"April 6. 1823.

"It _would_ be worse than idle, knowing, as I do, the utter
worthlessness of words on such occasions, in me to attempt to express
what I ought to feel, and do feel for the loss you have sustained[1];
and I must thus dismiss the subject, for I dare not trust myself
further with it _for your_ sake, or for my own. I shall _endeavour_
to see you as soon as it may not appear intrusive. Pray excuse the
levity of my yesterday's scrawl--I little thought under what
circumstances it would find you.

[Footnote 1: The death of Lord B----'s son, which had been long
expected, but of which the account had just then arrived.]

"I have received a very handsome and flattering note from Count ----.
He must excuse my apparent rudeness and real ignorance in replying to
it in English, through the medium of your kind interpretation. I
would not on any account deprive him of a production, of which I
really think more than I have even _said_, though you are good enough
not to be dissatisfied even with that; but whenever it is completed,
it would give me the greatest pleasure to have a _copy_--but _how_ to
keep it secret? literary secrets are like others. By changing the
names, or at least omitting several, and altering the circumstances
indicative of the writer's real station or situation, the author
would render it a most amusing publication. His countrymen have not
been treated, either in a literary or personal point of view, with
such deference in English recent works, as to lay him under any very
great national obligation of forbearance; and really the remarks are
so true and piquante, that I cannot bring myself to wish their
suppression; though, as Dangle says, 'He is _my_ friend,' many of
these personages 'were _my friends_, but much such friends as Dangle
and his allies.

"I return you Dr. Parr's letter--I have met him at Payne Knight's and
elsewhere, and he did me the honour once to be a patron of mine,
although a great friend of the other branch of the House of Atreus,
and the Greek teacher (I believe) of my _moral_ Clytemnestra--I say
_moral_, because it is true, and is so useful to the virtuous, that
it enables them to do any thing without the aid of an Ægisthus.

"I beg my compliments to Lady B., Miss P., and to your _Alfred_. I
think, since his Majesty of the same name, there has not been such a
learned surveyor of our Saxon society.

"Ever yours most truly, N. B."

"April 9. 1823.

"P.S. I salute Miledi, Mademoiselle Mama, and the illustrious
Chevalier Count ----; who, I hope, will continue his history of 'his
own times.' There are some strange coincidences between a part of his
remarks and a certain work of mine, now in MS. in England, (I do not
mean the hermetically sealed Memoirs, but a continuation of certain
Cantos of a certain poem,) especially in _what_ a _man_ may do in
London with impunity while he is 'à la mode;' which I think it well
to state, that he may not suspect me of taking advantage of his
confidence. The observations are very general."


"April 14. 1823.

"I am truly sorry that I cannot accompany you in your ride this
morning, owing to a violent pain in my face, arising from a wart to
which I by medical advice applied a caustic. Whether I put too much,
I do not know, but the consequence is, that not only I have been put
to some pain, but the peccant part and its immediate environ are as
black as if the printer's devil had marked me for an author. As I do
not wish to frighten your horses, or their riders, I shall postpone
waiting upon you until six o'clock, when I hope to have subsided into
a more christian-like resemblance to my fellow-creatures. My
infliction has partially extended even to my fingers; for on trying
to get the black from off my upper lip at least, I have only
transfused a portion thereof to my right hand, and neither
lemon-juice nor eau de Cologne, nor any other eau, have been able as
yet to redeem it also from a more inky appearance than is either
proper or pleasant. But 'out, damn'd spot'--you may have perceived
something of the kind yesterday, for on my return, I saw that during
my visit it had increased, was increasing, and ought to be
diminished; and I could not help laughing at the figure I must have
cut before you. At any rate, I shall be with you at six, with the
advantage of twilight.

Ever most truly, &c.

"Eleven o'clock.

"P.S. I wrote the above at three this morning. I regret to say that
the whole of the skin of about an _inch_ square above my upper lip
has come off, so that I cannot even shave or masticate, and I am
equally unfit to appear at your table, and to partake of its
hospitality. Will you therefore pardon me, and not mistake this
rueful excuse for a '_make-believe_,' as you will soon recognise
whenever I have the pleasure of meeting you again, and I will call
the moment I am, in the nursery phrase, 'fit to be seen.' Tell Lady
B. with my compliments, that I am rummaging my papers for a MS.
worthy of her acceptation. I have just seen the younger Count Gamba,
and as I cannot prevail on his infinite modesty to take the field
without me, I must take this piece of diffidence on myself also, and
beg your indulgence for both."


"April 22. 1823.

"My dear Count ---- (if you will permit me to address you so
familiarly), you should be content with writing in your own language,
like Grammont, and succeeding in London as nobody has succeeded since
the days of Charles the Second and the records of Antonio Hamilton,
without deviating into our barbarous language,--which you understand
and write, however, much better than it deserves.

"My 'approbation,' as you are pleased to term it, was very sincere,
but perhaps not very impartial; for, though I love my country, I do
not love my countrymen--at least, such as they now are. And, besides
the seduction of talent and wit in your work, I fear that to me there
was the attraction of vengeance. I have _seen_ and _felt_ much of
what you have described so well. I have known the persons, and the
re-unions so described,--(many of them, that is to say,) and the
portraits are so like that I cannot but admire the painter no less
than his performance.

"But I am sorry for you; for if you are so well acquainted with life
at your age, what will become of you when the illusion is still more
dissipated? But never mind--_en avant!_--live while you can; and that
you may have the full enjoyment of the many advantages of youth,
talent, and figure, which you possess, is the wish of
an--Englishman,--I suppose, but it is no treason; for my mother was
Scotch, and my name and my family are both Norman; and as for myself,
I am of no country. As for my 'Works,' which you are pleased to
mention, let them go to the Devil, from whence (if you believe many
persons) they came.

"I have the honour to be your obliged," &c. &c.

During this period a circumstance occurred which shows, most
favourably for the better tendencies of his nature, how much allayed
and softened down his once angry feeling, upon the subject of his
matrimonial differences, had now grown. It has been seen that his
daughter Ada,--more especially since his late loss of the only tie of
blood which he could have a hope of attaching to himself,--had become
the fond and constant object of his thoughts; and it was but natural,
in a heart kindly as his was, that, dwelling thus with tenderness
upon the child, he should find himself insensibly subdued into a
gentler tone of feeling towards the mother. A gentleman, whose sister
was known to be the confidential friend of Lady Byron, happening at
this time to be at Genoa, and in the habit of visiting at the house
of the poet's new intimates, Lord Byron took one day an opportunity,
in conversing with Lady ----, to say, that she would render him an
essential kindness if, through the mediation of this gentleman and
his sister, she could procure for him from Lady Byron, what he had
long been most anxious to possess, a copy of her picture. It having
been represented to him, in the course of the same, or a similar
conversation, that Lady Byron was said by her friends to be in a
state of constant alarm lest he should come to England to claim his
daughter, or, in some other way, interfere with her, he professed his
readiness to give every assurance that might have the effect of
calming such apprehensions; and the following letter, in reference to
both these subjects, was soon after sent by him.


"May 3. 1823.

"Dear Lady ----,

"My request would be for a copy of the miniature of Lady B. which I
have seen in possession of the late Lady Noel, as I have no picture,
or indeed memorial of any kind of Lady B., as all her letters were in
her own possession before I left England, and we have had no
correspondence since--at least on her part.

My message, with regard to the infant, is simply to this effect--that
in the event of any accident occurring to the mother, and my
remaining the survivor, it would be my wish to have her plans carried
into effect, both with regard to the education of the child, and the
person or persons under whose care Lady B. might be desirous that she
should be placed. It is not my intention to interfere with her in any
way on the subject during her life; and I presume that it would be
some consolation to her to know,(if she is in ill health, as I am
given to understand,) that in _no_ case would any thing be done, as
far as I am concerned, but in strict conformity with Lady B.'s own
wishes and intentions--left in what manner she thought proper.

"Believe me, dear Lady B., your obliged," &c.

This negotiation, of which I know not the results, nor whether,
indeed, it ever ended in any, led naturally and frequently to
conversations on the subject of his marriage,--a topic he was himself
always the first to turn to,--and the account which he then gave, as
well of the circumstances of the separation, as of his own entire
unconsciousness of the immediate causes that provoked it, was, I
find, exactly such as, upon every occasion when the subject presented
itself, he, with an air of sincerity in which it was impossible not
to confide, promulgated. "Of what really led to the separation (said
he, in the course of one of these conversations,) I declare to you
that, even at this moment, I am wholly ignorant; as Lady Byron would
never assign her motives, and has refused to answer my letters. I
have written to her repeatedly, and am still in the habit of doing
so. Some of these letters I have sent, and others I did not, simply
because I despaired of their doing any good. You may, however, see
some of them if you like;--they may serve to throw some light upon my

In a day or two after, accordingly, one of these withheld letters was
sent by him, enclosed in the following, to Lady ----.


"Albaro, May 6.1828.

My dear Lady ----,

I send you the letter which I had forgotten, and the book[1], which I
ought to have remembered. It contains (the book, I mean,) some
melancholy truths; though I believe that it is too triste a work ever
to have been popular. The first time I ever read it (not the edition
I send you,--for I got it since,) was at the desire of Madame de
Staël, who was supposed by the good-natured world to be the
heroine;--which she was not, however, and was furious at the
supposition. This occurred in Switzerland, in the summer of 1816, and
the last season in which I ever saw that celebrated person.

[Footnote 1: Adolphe, by M. Benjamin Constant.]

"I have a request to make to my friend Alfred (since he has not
disdained the title), viz. that he would condescend to add a _cap_ to
the gentleman in the jacket,--it would complete his costume,--and
smooth his brow, which is somewhat too inveterate a likeness of the
original, God help me!"

"I did well to avoid the water-party,--_why_, is a mystery, which is
not less to be wondered at than all my other mysteries. Tell Milor
that I am deep in his MS., and will do him justice by a diligent

"The letter which I enclose I was prevented from sending by my
despair of its doing any good. I was perfectly sincere when I wrote
it, and am so still. But it is difficult for me to withstand the
thousand provocations on that subject, which both friends and foes
have for seven years been throwing in the way of a man whose feelings
were once quick, and whose temper was never patient. But 'returning
were as tedious as go o'er.' I feel this as much as ever Macbeth did;
and it is a dreary sensation, which at least avenges the real or
imaginary wrongs of one of the two unfortunate persons whom it

"But I am going to be gloomy;--so 'to bed, to bed.' Good night,--or
rather morning. One of the reasons why I wish to avoid society is,
that I can never sleep after it, and the pleasanter it has been the
less I rest."

"Ever most truly," &c. &c.

I shall now produce the enclosure contained in the above; and there
are few, I should think, of my readers who will not agree with me in
pronouncing, that if the author of the following letter had not
_right_ on his side, he had at least most of those good feelings
which are found in general to accompany it.



Pisa, November 17. 1821.

I have to acknowledge the receipt of 'Ada's hair,'which is very soft
and pretty, and nearly as dark already as mine was at twelve years
old, if I may judge from what I recollect of some in Augusta's
possession, taken at that age. But it don't curl,--perhaps from its
being let grow.

"I also thank you for the inscription of the date and name, and I
will tell you why;--I believe that they are the only two or three
words of your handwriting in my possession. For your letters I
returned, and except the two words, or rather the one word,
'Household,' written twice in an old account book, I have no other. I
burnt your last note, for two reasons:--firstly, it was written in a
style not very agreeable; and, secondly, I wished to take your word
without documents, which are the worldly resources of suspicious

I suppose that this note will reach you somewhere about Ada's
birthday--the 10th of December, I believe. She will then be six, so
that in about twelve more I shall have some chance of meeting
her;--perhaps sooner, if I am obliged to go to England by business or
otherwise. Recollect, however, one thing, either in distance or
nearness;--every day which keeps us asunder should, after so long a
period, rather soften our mutual feelings, which must always have one
rallying-point as long as our child exists, which I presume we both
hope will be long after either of her parents.

The time which has elapsed since the separation has been considerably
more than the whole brief period of our union, and the not much
longer one of our prior acquaintance. We both made a bitter mistake;
but now it is over, and irrevocably so. For, at thirty-three on my
part, and a few years less on yours, though it is no very extended
period of life, still it is one when the habits and thought are
generally so formed as to admit of no modification; and as we could
not agree when younger, we should with difficulty do so now.

I say all this, because I own to you, that, notwithstanding every
thing, I considered our re-union as not impossible for more than a
year after the separation;--but then I gave up the hope entirely and
for ever. But this very impossibility of re-union seems to me at
least a reason why, on all the few points of discussion which can
arise between us, we should preserve the courtesies of life, and as
much of its kindness as people who are never to meet may preserve
perhaps more easily than nearer connections. For my own part, I am
violent, but not malignant; for only fresh provocations can awaken my
resentments. To you, who are colder and more concentrated, I would
just hint, that you may sometimes mistake the depth of a cold anger
for dignity, and a worse feeling for duty. I assure you that I bear
you _now_ (whatever I may have done) no resentment whatever.
Remember, that _if you have injured me_ in aught, this forgiveness is
something; and that, if I have _injured you_, it is something more
still, if it be true, as the moralists say, that the most offending
are the least forgiving.

"Whether the offence has been solely on my side, or reciprocal, or on
yours chiefly, I have ceased to reflect upon any but two
things,--viz. that you are the mother of my child, and that we shall
never meet again. I think if you also consider the two corresponding
points with reference to myself, it will be better for all three.

"Yours ever,


It has been my plan, as must have been observed, wherever my
materials have furnished me with the means, to leave the subject of
my Memoir to relate his own story; and this object, during the two or
three years of his life just elapsed, I have been enabled by the rich
resources in my hands, with but few interruptions, to attain. Having
now, however, reached that point of his career from which a new start
was about to be taken by his excursive spirit, and a course, glorious
as it was brief and fatal, entered upon,--a moment of pause may be
permitted while we look back through the last few years, and for a
while dwell upon the spectacle, at once grand and painful, which his
life during that most unbridled period of his powers exhibited.

In a state of unceasing excitement, both of heart and brain,--for
ever warring with the world's will, yet living but in the world's
breath,--with a genius taking upon itself all shapes, from Jove down
to Scapin, and a disposition veering with equal facility to all
points of the moral compass,--not even the ancient fancy of the
existence of two souls within one bosom would seem at all adequately
to account for the varieties, both of power and character, which the
course of his conduct and writings during these few feverish years
displayed. Without going back so far as the Fourth Canto of Childe
Harold, which one of his bitterest and ablest assailants has
pronounced to be, "in point of execution, the sublimest poetical
achievement of mortal pen," we have, in a similar strain of strength
and splendour, the Prophecy of Dante, Cain, the Mystery of Heaven and
Earth, Sardanapalus,--all produced during this wonderful period of
his genius. To these also are to be added four other dramatic pieces,
which, though the least successful of his compositions, have yet, as
Poems, few equals in our literature; while, in a more especial
degree, they illustrate the versatility of taste and power so
remarkable in him, as being founded, and to this very circumstance,
perhaps, owing their failure, on a severe classic model, the most
uncongenial to his own habits and temperament, and the most remote
from that bold, unshackled license which it had been the great
mission of his genius, throughout the whole realms of Mind, to

In contrast to all these high-toned strains, and struck off during
the same fertile period, we find his Don Juan--in itself an epitome
of all the marvellous contrarieties of his character--the Vision of
Judgment, the Translation from Pulci, the Pamphlets on Pope, on the
British Review, on Blackwood,--together with a swarm of other light,
humorous trifles, all flashing forth carelessly from the same mind
that was, almost at the same moment, personating, with a port worthy
of such a presence, the mighty spirit of Dante, or following the dark
footsteps of Scepticism over the ruins of past worlds, with Cain.

All this time, too, while occupied with these ideal creations, the
demands upon his active sympathies, in real life, were such as almost
any mind but his own would have found sufficient to engross its every
thought and feeling. An amour, not of that light, transient kind
which "goes without a burden," but, on the contrary, deep-rooted
enough to endure to the close of his days, employed as restlessly
with its first hopes and fears a portion of this period as with the
entanglements to which it led, political and domestic, it embarrassed
the remainder. Scarcely, indeed, had this disturbing passion begun to
calm, when a new source of excitement presented itself in that
conspiracy into which he flung himself so fearlessly, and which
ended, as we have seen, but in multiplying the objects of his
sympathy and protection, and driving him to a new change of home and

When we consider all these distractions that beset him, taking into
account also the frequent derangement of his health, and the time and
temper he must have thrown away on the minute drudgery of watching
over every item of his household expenditure, the mind is lost in
almost incredulous astonishment at the wonders he was able to achieve
under such circumstances--at the variety and prodigality of power
with which, in the midst of such interruptions and hinderances, his
"bright soul broke out on every side," and not only held on its
course, unclogged, through all these difficulties, but even extracted
out of the very struggles and annoyances it encountered new nerve for
its strength, and new fuel for its fire.

While thus at this period, more remarkably than at any other during
his life, the unparalleled versatility of his genius was unfolding
itself, those quick, cameleon-like changes of which his character,
too, was capable were, during the same time, most vividly, and in
strongest contrast, drawn out. To the world, and more especially to
England,--the scene at once of his glories and his wrongs,--he
presented himself in no other aspect than that of a stern, haughty
misanthrope, self-banished from the fellowship of men, and, most of
all, from that of Englishmen. The more genial and beautiful
inspirations of his muse were, in this point of view, looked upon but
as lucid intervals between the paroxysms of an inherent malignancy of
nature; and even the laughing effusions of his wit and humour got
credit for no other aim than that which Swift boasted of, as the end
of all his own labours, "to vex the world rather than divert it."

How totally all this differed from the Byron of the social hour, they
who lived in familiar intercourse with him may be safely left to
tell. The sort of ferine reputation which he had acquired for himself
abroad prevented numbers, of course, of his countrymen, whom he would
have most cordially welcomed, from seeking his acquaintance. But, as
it was, no English gentleman ever approached him, with the common
forms of introduction, that did not come away at once surprised and
charmed by the kind courtesy and facility of his manners, the
unpretending play of his conversation, and, on a nearer intercourse,
the frank, youthful spirits, to the flow of which he gave way with
such a zest, as even to deceive some of those who best knew him into
the impression, that gaiety was after all the true bent of his

To these contrasts which he presented, as viewed publicly and
privately, is to be added also the fact, that, while braving the
world's ban so boldly, and asserting man's right to think for himself
with a freedom and even daringness unequalled, the original shyness
of his nature never ceased to hang about him; and while at a distance
he was regarded as a sort of autocrat in intellect, revelling in all
the confidence of his own great powers, a somewhat nearer observation
enabled a common acquaintance at Venice[1] to detect, under all this,
traces of that self-distrust and bashfulness which had marked him as
a boy, and which never entirely forsook him through the whole of his

[Footnote 1: The Countess Albrizzi--see her Sketch of his Character.]

Still more singular, however, than this contradiction between the
public and private man,--a contradiction not unfrequent, and, in some
cases, more apparent than real, as depending upon the relative
position of the observer,--were those contrarieties and changes not
less startling, which his character so often exhibited, as compared
with itself. He who, at one moment, was seen intrenched in the most
absolute self-will, would, at the very next, be found all that was
docile and amenable. To-day, storming the world in its strong-holds,
as a misanthrope and satirist--to-morrow, learning, with implicit
obedience, to fold a shawl, as a Cavaliere--the same man who had so
obstinately refused to surrender, either to friendly remonstrance or
public outcry, a single line of Don Juan, at the mere request of a
gentle Donna agreed to cease it altogether; nor would venture to
resume this task (though the chief darling of his muse) till, with
some difficulty, he had obtained leave from the same ascendant
quarter. Who, indeed, is there that, without some previous clue to
his transformations, could have been at all prepared to recognise the
coarse libertine of Venice in that romantic and passionate lover who,
but a few months after, stood weeping before the fountain in the
garden at Bologna? or, who could have expected to find in the close
calculator of sequins and baiocchi, that generous champion of Liberty
whose whole fortune, whose very life itself were considered by him
but as trifling sacrifices for the advancement, but by a day, of her

And here naturally our attention is drawn to the consideration of
another feature of his character, connected more intimately with the
bright epoch of his life now before us. Notwithstanding his strongly
marked prejudices in favour of rank and high birth, we have seen with
what ardour,--not only in fancy and theory, bet practically, as in
the case of the Italian Carbonari,--he embarked his sympathies
unreservedly on the current of every popular movement towards
freedom. Though of the sincerity of this zeal for liberty the seal
set upon it so solemnly by his death leaves us no room to doubt, a
question may fairly arise whether that general love of excitement,
let it flow from whatever source it might, by which, more or less,
every pursuit of his whole life was actuated, was not predominant
among the impulses that governed him in this; and, again, whether it
is not probable that, like Alfieri and other aristocratic lovers of
freedom, he would not ultimately have shrunk from the result of his
own equalising doctrines; and, though zealous enough in lowering
those _above_ his own level, rather recoil from the task of raising
up those who were _below_ it.

With regard to the first point, it may be conceded, without deducting
much from his sincere zeal in the cause, that the gratification of
his thirst of fame, and, above all, perhaps, that supply of
excitement so necessary to him, to whet, as it were, the edge of his
self-wearing spirit, were not the least of the attractions and
incitements which a struggle under the banners of Freedom presented
to him. It is also but too certain that, destined as he was to
endless disenchantment, from that singular and painful union which
existed in his nature of the creative imagination that calls up
illusions, and the cool, searching sagacity that, at once, detects
their hollowness, he could not long have gone on, even in a path so
welcome to him, without finding the hopes with which his fancy had
strewed it withering away beneath him at every step.

In politics, as in every other pursuit, his ambition was to be among
the first; nor would it have been from the want of a due appreciation
of all that is noblest and most disinterested in patriotism, that he
would ever have stooped his flight to any less worthy aim. The
following passage in one of his Journals will be remembered by the
reader:--"To be the first man _(not_ the Dictator), not the Sylla,
but the Washington, or Aristides, the leader in talent and truth, is
to be next to the Divinity." With such high and pure notions of
political eminence, he could not be otherwise than fastidious as to
the means of attaining it; nor can it be doubted that with the sort
of vulgar and sometimes sullied instruments which all popular leaders
must stoop to employ, his love of truth, his sense of honour, his
impatience of injustice, would have led him constantly into such
collisions as must have ended in repulsion and disgust; while the
companionship of those beneath him, a tax all demagogues must pay,
would, as soon as it had ceased to amuse his fancy for the new and
the ridiculous, have shocked his taste and mortified his pride. The
distaste with which, as appears from more than one of his letters, he
was disposed to view the personal, if not the political, attributes
of what is commonly called the Radical party in England, shows how
unsuited he was naturally to mix in that kind of popular fellowship
which, even to those far less aristocratic in their notions and
feelings, must be sufficiently trying.

But, even granting that all these consequences might safely be
predicted as almost certain to result from his engaging in such a
career, it by no means the more necessarily follows that, _once_
engaged, he would not have persevered in it consistently and
devotedly to the last; nor that, even if reduced to say, with Cicero,
"nil boni præter causam," he could not have so far abstracted the
principle of the cause from its unworthy supporters as, at the same
time, to uphold the one and despise the others. Looking back, indeed,
from the advanced point where we are now arrived through the whole of
his past career, we cannot fail to observe, pervading all its
apparent changes and inconsistencies, an adherence to the original
bias of his nature, a general consistency in the main, however
shifting and contradictory the details, which had the effect of
preserving, from first to last, all his views and principles, upon
the great subjects that interested him through life, essentially

[Footnote 1: Colonel Stanhope, who saw clearly this leading character
of Byron's mind, has thus justly described it:--"Lord Byron's was a
versatile and still a stubborn mind; it wavered, but always returned
to certain fixed principles."]

At the worst, therefore, though allowing that, from disappointment or
disgust, he might have been led to withdraw all personal
participation in such a cause, in no case would he have shown himself
a recreant to its principles; and though too proud to have ever
descended, like Egalité, into the ranks of the people, he would have
been far too consistent to pass, like Alfieri, into those of their

After the failure of those hopes with which he had so sanguinely
looked forward to the issue of the late struggle between Italy and
her rulers, it may be well conceived what a relief it was to him to
turn his eyes to Greece, where a spirit was now rising such as he had
himself imaged forth in dreams of song, but hardly could have even
dreamed that he should live to see it realised. His early travels in
that country had left a lasting impression on his mind; and whenever,
as I have before remarked, his fancy for a roving life returned, it
was to the regions about the "blue Olympus" he always fondly looked
back. Since his adoption of Italy as a home, this propensity had in a
great degree subsided. In addition to the sedatory effects of his new
domestic r, there had, at this time, grown upon him a degree of
inertness, or indisposition to change of residence, which, in the
instance of his departure from Ravenna, was with some difficulty

The unsettled state of life he was from thenceforward thrown into, by
the precarious fortunes of those with whom he had connected himself,
conspired with one or two other causes to revive within him all his
former love of change and adventure; nor is it wonderful that to
Greece, as offering _both_ in their most exciting form, he should
turn eagerly his eyes, and at once kindle with a desire not only to
witness, but perhaps share in, the present triumphs of Liberty on
those very fields where he had already gathered for immortality such
memorials of her day long past.

Among the causes that concurred with this sentiment to determine him
to the enterprise he now meditated, not the least powerful,
undoubtedly, was the supposition in his own mind that the high tide
of his poetical popularity had been for some time on the ebb. The
utter failure of the Liberal,--in which, splendid as were some of his
own contributions to it, there were yet others from his pen hardly to
be distinguished from the surrounding dross,--confirmed him fully in
the notion that he had at last wearied out his welcome with the
world; and, as the voice of fame had become almost as necessary to
him as the air he breathed, it was with a proud consciousness of the
yet untouched reserves of power within him he now saw that, if
arrived at the end of _one_ path of fame, there were yet others for
him to strike into, still more glorious.

That some such vent for the resources of his mind had long been
contemplated by him appears from a letter of his to myself, in which
it will be recollected he says,--"If I live ten years longer, you
will see that it is not over with me. I don't mean in literature, for
that is nothing; and--it may seem odd enough to say--I do not think
it was my vocation. But you will see that I shall do something,--the
times and Fortune permitting,--that 'like the cosmogony of the world
will puzzle the philosophers of all ages.'" He then adds this but too
true and sad prognostic:--"But I doubt whether my constitution will
hold out."

His zeal in the cause of Italy, whose past history and literature
seemed to call aloud for redress of her present vassalage and wrongs,
would have, no doubt, led him to the same chivalrous self-devotion in
her service, as he displayed afterwards in that of Greece. The
disappointing issue, however, of that brief struggle is but too well
known; and this sudden wreck of a cause so promising pained him the
more deeply from his knowledge of some of the brave and true hearts
embarked in it. The disgust, indeed, which that abortive effort left
behind, coupled with the opinion he had early formed of the
"hereditary bonds-men" of Greece, had kept him for some time in a
state of considerable doubt and misgiving as to their chances of ever
working out their own enfranchisement; nor was it till the spring of
this year, when, rather by the continuance of the struggle than by
its actual success, some confidence had begun to be inspired in the
trust-worthiness of the cause, that he had nearly made up his mind to
devote himself to its aid. The only difficulty that still remained to
retard or embarrass this resolution was the necessity it imposed of a
temporary separation from Madame Guiccioli, who was herself, as might
be expected, anxious to participate his perils, but whom it was
impossible he could think of exposing to the chances of a life, even
for men, so rude.

At the beginning of the month of April he received a visit from Mr.
Blaquiere, who was then proceeding on a special mission to Greece,
for the purpose of procuring for the Committee lately formed in
London correct information as to the state and prospects of that
country. It was among the instructions of this gentleman that he
should touch at Genoa and communicate with Lord Byron; and the
following note will show how cordially the noble poet was disposed to
enter into all the objects of the Committee.


"Albaro, April 5. 1823.

"Dear Sir,

"I shall be delighted to see you and your Greek friend, and the
sooner the better. I have been expecting you for some time,--you will
find me at home. I cannot express to you how much I feel interested
in the cause, and nothing but the hopes I entertained of witnessing
the liberation of Italy itself prevented me long ago from returning
to do what little I could, as an individual, in that land which it is
an honour even to have visited.

"Ever yours truly, NOEL BYRON."

Soon after this interview with their agent, a more direct
communication on the subject was opened between his Lordship and the
Committee itself.


"Genoa, May 12. 1823


"I have great pleasure in acknowledging your letter, and the honour
which the Committee have done me:--I shall endeavour to deserve their
confidence by every means in my power. My first wish is to go up into
the Levant in person, where I might be enabled to advance, if not the
cause, at least the means of obtaining information which the
Committee might be desirous of acting upon; and my former residence
in the country, my familiarity with the Italian language, (which is
there universally spoken, or at least to the same extent as French in
the more polished parts of the Continent,) and my _not_ total
ignorance of the Romaic, would afford me some advantages of
experience. To this project the only objection is of a domestic
nature, and I shall try to get over it;--if I fail in this, I must do
what I can where I am; but it will be always a source of regret to
me, to think that I might perhaps have done more for the cause on the

"Our last information of Captain Blaquiere is from Ancona, where he
embarked with a fair wind for Corfu, on the 15th ult.; he is now
probably at his destination. My last letter _from_ him personally was
dated Rome; he had been refused a passport through the Neapolitan
territory, and returned to strike up through Romagna for
Ancona:--little time, however, appears to have been lost by the

"The principal material wanted by the Greeks appears to be, first, a
park of field artillery--light, and fit for mountain-service;
secondly, gunpowder; thirdly, hospital or medical stores. The
readiest mode of transmission is, I hear, by Idra, addressed to Mr.
Negri, the minister. I meant to send up a certain quantity of the two
latter--no great deal--but enough for an individual to show his good
wishes for the Greek success,--but am pausing, because, in case I
should go myself, I can take them with me. I do not want to limit my
own contribution to this merely, but more especially, if I can get to
Greece myself, I should devote whatever resources I can muster of my
own, to advancing the great object. I am in correspondence with
Signor Nicolas Karrellas (well known to Mr. Hobhouse), who is now at
Pisa; but his latest advice merely stated, that the Greeks are at
present employed in organising their _internal_ government, and the
details of its administration: this would seem to indicate
_security_, but the war is however far from being terminated.

"The Turks are an obstinate race, as all former wars have proved
them, and will return to the charge for years to come, even if
beaten, as it is to be hoped they will be. But in no case can the
labours of the Committee be said to be in vain; for in the event even
of the Greeks being subdued, and dispersed, the funds which could be
employed in succouring and gathering together the remnant, so as to
alleviate in part their distresses, and enable them to find or make a
country (as so many emigrants of other nations have been compelled to
do), would 'bless both those who gave and those who took,' as the
bounty both of justice and of mercy.

"With regard to the formation of a brigade, (which Mr. Hobhouse hints
at in his short letter of this day's receipt, enclosing the one to
which I have the honour to reply,) I would presume to suggest--but
merely as an opinion, resulting rather from the melancholy experience
of the brigades embarked in the Columbian service than from any
experiment yet fairly tried in GREECE,--that the attention of the
Committee had better perhaps be directed to the employment of
_officers_ of experience than the enrolment of _raw British_
soldiers, which latter are apt to be unruly, and not very
serviceable, in irregular warfare, by the side of foreigners. A small
body of good officers, especially artillery; an engineer, with
quantity (such as the Committee might deem requisite) of stores of
the nature which Captain Blaquiere indicated as most wanted, would, I
should conceive, be a highly useful accession. Officers, also, who
had previously served in the Mediterranean would be preferable, as
some knowledge of Italian is nearly indispensable.

"It would also be as well that they should be aware, that they are
not going 'to rough it on a beef-steak and bottle of port,'--but that
Greece--never, of late years, very plentifully stocked for a
_mess_--is at present the country of all kinds of _privations_. This
remark may seem superfluous; but I have been led to it, by observing
that many _foreign_ officers, Italian, French, and even Germans
(but_fewer_ of the _latter_), have returned in disgust, imagining
either that they were going up to make a party of pleasure, or to
enjoy full pay, speedy promotion, and a very moderate degree of duty.
They complain, too, of having been ill received by the Government or
inhabitants; but numbers of these complainants were mere adventurers,
attracted by a hope of command and plunder, and disappointed of both.
Those Greeks I have seen strenuously deny the charge of
inhospitality, and declare that they shared their pittance to the
last crum with their foreign volunteers.

"I need not suggest to the Committee the very great advantage which
must accrue to Great Britain from the success of the Greeks, and
their probable commercial relations with England in consequence;
because I feel persuaded that the first object of the Committee is
their EMANCIPATION, without any interested views. But the
consideration might weigh with the English people in general, in
their present passion for every kind of speculation,--they need not
cross the American seas, for one much better worth their while, and
nearer home. The resources even for an emigrant population, in the
Greek islands alone, are rarely to be paralleled; and the cheapness
of every kind of, not _only necessary_, but _luxury_, (that is to
say, _luxury_ of _nature_,) fruits, wine, oil, &c. in a state of
peace, are far beyond those of the Cape, and Van Dieman's Land, and
the other places of refuge, which the English people are searching
for over the waters.

"I beg that the Committee will command me in any and every way. If I
am favoured with any instructions, I shall endeavour to obey them to
the letter, whether conformable to my own private opinion or not. I
beg leave to add, personally, my respect for the gentleman whom I
have the honour of addressing,

"And am, Sir, your obliged, &c.

"P.S. The best refutation of Gell will be the active exertions of the
Committee;--I am too warm a controversialist; and I suspect that if
Mr. Hobhouse have taken him in hand, there will be little occasion
for me to 'encumber him with help.' If I go up into the country, I
will endeavour to transmit as accurate and impartial an account as
circumstances will permit.

"I shall write to Mr. Karrellas. I expect intelligence from Captain
Blaquiere, who has promised me some early intimation from the seat of
the Provisional Government. I gave him a letter of introduction to
Lord Sydney Osborne, at Corfu; but as Lord S. is in the government
service, of course his reception could only be a _cautious_ one."


"Genoa, May 21. 1823.


"I received yesterday the letter of the Committee, dated the 14th of
March. What has occasioned the delay, I know not. It was forwarded by
Mr. Galignani, from Paris, who stated that he had only had it in his
charge four days, and that it was delivered to him by a Mr. Grattan.
I need hardly say that I gladly accede to the proposition of the
Committee, and hold myself highly honoured by being deemed worthy to
be a member. I have also to return my thanks, particularly to
yourself, for the accompanying letter, which is extremely flattering.

"Since I last wrote to you, through the medium of Mr. Hobhouse, I
have received and forwarded a letter from Captain Blaquiere to me,
from Corfu, which will show how he gets on. Yesterday I fell in with
two young Germans, survivors of General Normann's band. They arrived
at Genoa in the most deplorable state--without food--without a
soul--without shoes. The Austrians had sent them out of their
territory on their landing at Trieste; and they had been forced to
come down to Florence, and had travelled from Leghorn here, with four
Tuscan _livres_ (about three francs) in their pockets. I have given
them twenty Genoese scudi (about a hundred and thirty-three livres,
French money,) and new shoes, which will enable them to get to
Switzerland, where they say that they have friends. All that they
could raise in Genoa, besides, was thirty _sous_. They do not
complain of the Greeks, but say that they have suffered more since
their landing in Italy.

"I tried their veracity, 1st, by their passports and papers; 2dly, by
topography, cross-questioning them about Arta, Argos, Athens,
Missolonghi, Corinth, c.; and, 3dly, in _Romaic_, of which I found
one of them, at least, knew more than I do. One of them (they are
both of good families) is a fine handsome young fellow of
three-and-twenty--a Wirtembergher, and has a look of _Sandt_ about
him--the other a Bavarian, older and flat-faced, and less ideal, but
a great, sturdy, soldier-like personage. The Wirtembergher was in the
action at Arta, where the Philhellenists were cut to pieces after
killing six hundred Turks, they themselves being only a hundred and
fifty in number, opposed to about six or seven thousand; only eight
escaped, and of them about three only survived; so that General
Normann 'posted his ragamuffins where they were well peppered--not
three of the hundred and fifty left alive--and they are for the
town's end for life.'

"These two left Greece by the direction of the Greeks. When Churschid
Pacha over-run the Morea, the Greeks seem to have behaved well, in
wishing to save their allies, when they thought that the game was up
with themselves. This was in September last (1822): they wandered
from island to island, and got from Milo to Smyrna, where the French
consul gave them a passport, and a charitable captain a passage to
Ancona, whence they got to Trieste, and were turned back by the
Austrians. They complain only of the minister (who has always been an
indifferent character); say that the Greeks fight very well in their
own way, but were at _first_ afraid to _fire_ their own cannon--but
mended with practice.

"Adolphe (the younger) commanded at Navarino for a short time; the
other, a more material person, 'the bold Bavarian in a luckless
hour,' seems chiefly to lament a fast of three days at Argos, and the
loss of twenty-five paras a day of pay in arrear, and some baggage at
Tripolitza; but takes his wounds, and marches, and battles in very
good part. Both are very simple, full of naïveté, and quite
unpretending: they say the foreigners quarrelled among themselves,
particularly the French with the Germans, which produced duels.

"The Greeks accept muskets, but throw away _bayonets_, and will _not_
be disciplined. When these lads saw two Piedmontese regiments
yesterday, they said, 'Ah! if we had but _these_ two, we should have
cleared the Morea:' in that case the Piedmontese must have behaved
better than they did against the Austrians. They seem to lay great
stress upon a few regular troops--say that the Greeks have arms and
powder in plenty, but want victuals, hospital stores, and lint and
linen, &c. and money, very much. Altogether, it would be difficult to
show more practical philosophy than this remnant of our 'puir hill
folk' have done; they do not seem the least cast down, and their way
of presenting themselves was as simple and natural as could be. They
said, a Dane here had told them that an Englishman, friendly to the
Greek cause, was here, and that, as they were reduced to beg their
way home, they thought they might as well begin with me. I write in
haste to snatch the post.

"Believe me, and truly,

"Your obliged, &c.

"P.S. I have, since I wrote this, seen them again. Count P. Gamba
asked them to breakfast. One of them means to publish his Journal of
the campaign. The Bavarian wonders a little that the Greeks are not
quite the same with them of the time of Themistocles, (they were not
then very tractable, by the by,) and at the difficulty of
disciplining them; but he is a 'bon homme' and a tactician, and a
little like Dugald Dalgetty, who would insist upon the erection of 'a
sconce on the hill of Drumsnab,' or whatever it was;--the other seems
to wonder at nothing."

LETTER 522. TO LADY ----.

"May 17. 1823.

"My voyage to Greece will depend upon the Greek Committee (in
England) partly, and partly on the instructions which some persons
now in Greece on a private mission may be pleased to send me. I am a
member, lately elected, of the said Committee; and my object in going
up would be to do any little good in my power;--but as there are some
_pros_ and _cons_ on the subject, with regard to how far the
intervention of strangers may be advisable, I know no more than I
tell you; but we shall probably hear something soon from England and
Greece, which may be more decisive.

"With regard to the late person (Lord Londonderry), whom you hear
that I have attacked, I can only say that a bad minister's memory is
as much an object of investigation as his conduct while alive,--for
his measures do not die with him like a private individual's notions.
He is a matter of _history_; and, wherever I find a tyrant or a
villain, _I will mark him._ I attacked him no more than I had been
wont to do. As to the Liberal,--it was a publication set up for the
advantage of a persecuted author and a very worthy man. But it was
foolish in me to engage in it; and so it has turned out--for I have
hurt myself without doing much good to those for whose benefit it was

"Do _not defend_ me--it will never do--you will only make _yourself_

"Mine are neither to be diminished nor softened, but they may be
overthrown; and there are events which may occur, less improbable
than those which have happened in our time, that may reverse the
present state of things--_nous verrons_.

"I send you this gossip that you may laugh at it, which is all it is
good for, if it is even good for so much. I shall be delighted to see
you again; but it will be melancholy, should it be only for a moment.

"Ever yours, N. B."

It being now decided that Lord Byron should proceed forthwith to
Greece, all the necessary preparations for his departure were
hastened. One of his first steps was to write to Mr. Trelawney, who
was then at Rome, to request that he would accompany him. "You must
have heard," he says, "that I am going to Greece--why do you not come
to me? I can do nothing without you, and am exceedingly anxious to
see you. Pray, come, for I am at last determined to go to Greece:--it
is the only place I was ever contented in. I am serious; and did not
write before, as I might have given you a journey for nothing. They
all say I can be of use to Greece; I do not know how--nor do they;
but, at all events, let us go."

A physician, acquainted with surgery, being considered a necessary
part of his suite, he requested of his own medical attendant at
Genoa, Dr. Alexander, to provide him with such a person; and, on the
recommendation of this gentleman, Dr. Bruno, a young man who had just
left the university with considerable reputation, was engaged. Among
other preparations for his expedition, he ordered three splendid
helmets to be made,--with his never forgotten crest engraved upon
them,--for himself and the two friends who were to accompany him. In
this little circumstance, which in England (where the ridiculous is
so much better understood than the heroic) excited some sneers at the
time, we have one of the many instances that occur amusingly through
his life, to confirm the quaint but, as applied to him, true
observation, that "the child is father to the man;"--the
characteristics of these two periods of life being in him so
anomalously transposed, that while the passions and ripened views of
the man developed themselves in his boyhood, so the easily pleased
fancies and vanities of the boy were for ever breaking out among the
most serious moments of his manhood. The same schoolboy whom we
found, at the beginning of the first volume, boasting of his
intention to raise, at some future time, a troop of horse in black
armour, to be called Byron's Blacks, was now seen trying on with
delight his fine crested helmet, and anticipating the deeds of glory
he was to achieve under its plumes.

At the end of May a letter arrived from Mr. Blaquiere communicating
to him very favourable intelligence, and requesting that he would as
much as possible hasten his departure, as he was now anxiously looked
for, and would be of the greatest service. However encouraging this
summons, and though Lord Byron, thus called upon from all sides, had
now determined to give freely the aid which all deemed so essential,
it is plain from his letters that, in the cool, sagacious view which
he himself took of the whole subject, so far from agreeing with these
enthusiasts in their high estimate of his personal services, he had
not yet even been able to perceive any definite way in which those
services could, with any prospect of permanent utility, be applied.

For an insight into the true state of his mind at this crisis, the
following observations of one who watched him with eyes quickened by
anxiety will be found, perhaps, to afford the clearest and most
certain clue. "At this time," says the Contessa Guiccioli, "Lord
Byron again turned his thoughts to Greece; and, excited on every side
by a thousand combining circumstances, found himself, almost before
he had time to form a decision, or well know what he was doing,
obliged to set out for that country. But, notwithstanding his
affection for those regions,--notwithstanding the consciousness of
his own moral energies, which made him say always that 'a man ought
to do something more for society than write verses,'--notwithstanding
the attraction which the object of this voyage must necessarily have
for his noble mind, and that, moreover, he was resolved to return to
Italy within a few months,--notwithstanding all this, every person
who was near him at the time can bear witness to the struggle which
his mind underwent (however much he endeavoured to hide it), as the
period fixed for his departure approached."[1]

[Footnote 1: "Fu allora che Lord Byron rivolse i suoi pensieri alla
Grecia; e stimolato poi da ogni parte per mille combinazioni egli si
trovo quasi senza averlo deciso, e senza saperlo, obbligato di
partire per la Grecia. Ma, non ostante il suo affetto per quelle
contrade,--non ostante il sentimento delle sue forze morali che gli
faceva dire sempre 'che un uomo e obbligato a fare per la societa
qualche cosa di piu che dei versi,--non ostante le attrative che
doveva avere pel nobile suo animo l'oggetto di que viaggio,--e non
ostante che egli fosse determinato di ritornare in Italia fra non
molti mesi,--pure in quale combattimento si trovasse il suo cuore
mentre si avvanzava l'epoca della sua parenza (sebbene cercasse
occultarlo) ognuno che lo ha avvicinato allora puù dirlo."]

In addition to the vagueness which this want of any defined object so
unsatisfactorily threw round the enterprise before him, he had also a
sort of ominous presentiment--natural, perhaps, to one of his
temperament under such circumstances--that he was but fulfilling his
own doom in this expedition, and should die in Greece. On the evening
before the departure of his friends, Lord and Lady B----, from Genoa,
he called upon them for the purpose of taking leave, and sat
conversing for some time. He was evidently in low spirits, and after
expressing his regret that they should leave Genoa before his own
time of sailing, proceeded to speak of his intended voyage in a tone
full of despondence. "Here," said he, "we are all now together--but
when, and where, shall we meet again? I have a sort of boding that we
see each other for the last time; as something tells me I shall never
again return from Greece." Having continued a little longer in this
melancholy strain, he leaned his head upon the arm of the sofa on
which they were seated, and, bursting into tears, wept for some
minutes with uncontrollable feeling. Though he had been talking only
with Lady B----, all who were present in the room observed, and were
affected by his emotion, while he himself, apparently ashamed of his
weakness, endeavoured to turn off attention from it by some ironical
remark, spoken with a sort of hysterical laugh, upon the effects of

He had, previous to this conversation, presented to each of the party
some little farewell gift--a book to one, a print from his bust by
Bartolini to another, and to Lady B---- a copy of his Armenian
Grammar, which had some manuscript remarks of his own on the leaves.
In now parting with her, having begged, as a memorial, some trifle
which she had worn, the lady gave him one of her rings; in return for
which he took a pin from his breast, containing a small cameo of
Napoleon, which he said had long been his companion, and presented it
to her Ladyship.

The next day Lady B---- received from him the following note.


"Albaro, June 2. 1823.

"My dear Lady B----, 'I am _superstitious_, and have recollected that
memorials with a _point_ are of less fortunate augury; I will,
therefore, request you to accept, instead of the _pin_, the enclosed
chain, which is of so slight a value that you need not hesitate. As
you wished for something _worn_, I can only say, that it has been
worn oftener and longer than the other. It is of Venetian
manufacture; and the only peculiarity about it is, that it could only
be obtained at or from Venice. At Genoa they have none of the same
kind. I also enclose a ring, which I would wish _Alfred_ to keep; it
is too large to _wear_; but is formed of _lava_, and so far adapted
to the fire of his years and character. You will perhaps have the
goodness to acknowledge the receipt of this note, and send back the
pin (for good luck's sake), which I shall value much more for having
been a night in your custody.

"Ever and faithfully your obliged, &c.

"P.S. I hope your _nerves_ are well to-day, and will continue to

In the mean time the preparations for his romantic expedition were in
progress. With the aid of his banker and very sincere friend, Mr.
Barry, of Genoa, he was enabled to raise the large sums of money
necessary for his supply;--10,000 crowns in specie, and 40,000 crowns
in bills of exchange, being the amount of what he took with him, and
a portion of this having been raised upon his furniture and books, on
which Mr. Barry, as I understand, advanced a sum far beyond their
worth. An English brig, the Hercules, had been freighted to convey
himself and his suite, which consisted, at this time, of Count Gamba,
Mr. Trelawney, Dr. Bruno, and eight domestics. There were also aboard
five horses, sufficient arms and ammunition for the use of his own
party, two one-pounders belonging to his schooner, the Bolivar, which
he had left at Genoa, and medicine enough for the supply of a
thousand men for a year.

The following letter to the Secretary of the Greek Committee
announces his approaching departure.


"July 7. 1823.

"We sail on the 12th for Greece.--I have had a letter from Mr,
Blaquiere, too long for present transcription, but very satisfactory.
The Greek Government expects me without delay.

"In conformity to the desires of Mr. B. and other correspondents in
Greece, I have to suggest, with all deference to the Committee, that
a remittance of even '_ten thousand pounds only_' (Mr. B.'s
expression) would be of the greatest service to the Greek Government
at present. I have also to recommend strongly the attempt of a loan,
for which there will be offered a sufficient security by deputies now
on their way to England. In the mean time, I hope that the Committee
will be enabled to do something effectual.

"For my own part, I mean to carry up, in cash or credits, above
eight, and nearly nine thousand pounds sterling, which I am enabled
to do by funds I have in Italy, and credits in England. Of this sum I
must necessarily reserve a portion for the subsistence of myself and
suite; the rest I am willing to apply in the manner which seems most
likely to be useful to the cause--having of course some guarantee or
assurance, that it will not be misapplied to any individual

"If I remain in Greece, which will mainly depend upon the presumed
probable utility of my presence there, and of the opinion of the
Greeks themselves as to its propriety--in short, if I am welcome to
them, I shall continue, during my residence at least, to apply such
portions of my income, present and future, as may forward the
object--that is to say, what I can spare for that purpose. Privations
I can, or at least could once bear--abstinence I am accustomed
to--and as to fatigue, I was once a tolerable traveller. What I may
be now, I cannot tell--but I will try.

"I await the commands of the Committee--Address to Genoa--the letters
will be forwarded me, wherever I may be, by my bankers, Messrs. Webb
and Barry. It would have given me pleasure to have had some more
_defined_ instructions before I went, but these, of course, rest at
the option of the Committee.

I have the honour to be,

"Yours obediently, &c.

"P.S. Great anxiety is expressed for a printing press and types, &c.
I have not the time to provide them, but recommend this to the notice
of the Committee. I presume the types must, partly at least, be
_Greek_: they wish to publish papers, and perhaps a Journal, probably
in Romaic, with Italian translations."

All was now ready; and on the 13th of July himself and his whole
party slept on board the Hercules. About sunrise the next morning
they succeeded in clearing the port; but there was little wind, and
they remained in sight of Genoa the whole day. The night was a bright
moonlight, but the wind had become stormy and adverse, and they were,
for a short time, in serious danger. Lord Byron, who remained on deck
during the storm, was employed anxiously, with the aid of such of his
suite as were not disabled by sea-sickness from helping him in
preventing further mischief to the horses, which, having been badly
secured, had broken loose and injured each other. After making head
against the wind for three or four hours, the captain was at last
obliged to steer back to Genoa, and re-entered the port at six in the
morning. On landing again, after this unpromising commencement of his
voyage, Lord Byron (says Count Gamba) "appeared thoughtful, and
remarked that he considered a bad beginning a favourable omen."

It has been already, I believe, mentioned that, among the
superstitions in which he chose to indulge, the supposed unluckiness
of Friday, as a day for the commencement of any work, was one by
which he, almost always, allowed himself to be influenced. Soon after
his arrival at Pisa, a lady of his acquaintance happening to meet him
on the road from her house as she was herself returning thither, and
supposing that he had been to make her a visit, requested that he
would go back with her. "I have not been to your house," he answered;
"for, just before I got to the door, I remembered that it was Friday;
and, not liking to make my first visit on a Friday, I turned back."
It is even related of him that he once sent away a Genoese tailor who
brought him home a new coat on the same ominous day.

With all this, strange to say, he set sail for Greece on a
Friday:--and though, by those who have any leaning to this
superstitious fancy, the result maybe thought but too sadly
confirmatory of the omen, it is plain that either the influence of
the superstition over his own mind was slight, or, in the excitement
of self-devotion under which he now acted, was forgotten, In truth,
notwithstanding his encouraging speech to Count Gamba, the
forewarning he now felt of his approaching doom seems to have been
far too deep and serious to need the aid of any such accessory.
Having expressed a wish, on relanding, to visit his own palace, which
he had left to the care of Mr. Barry during his absence, and from
which Madame Guiccioli had early that morning departed, he now
proceeded thither, accompanied by Count Gamba alone. "His
conversation," says this gentleman, "was somewhat melancholy on our
way to Albaro: he spoke much of his past life, and of the uncertainty
of the future. 'Where,' said he, 'shall we be in a year?'--It looked
(adds his friend) like a melancholy foreboding; for, on the same day,
of the same month, in the next year, he was carried to the tomb of
his ancestors."

It took nearly the whole of the day to repair the damages of their
vessel; and the greater part of this interval was passed by Lord
Byron, in company with Mr. Barry, at some gardens near the city. Here
his conversation, as this gentleman informs me, took the same gloomy
turn. That he had not fixed to go to England, in preference, seemed
one of his deep regrets; and so hopeless were the views he expressed
of the whole enterprise before him, that, as it appeared to Mr.
Barry, nothing but a devoted sense of duty and honour could have
determined him to persist in it.

In the evening of that day they set sail;--and now, fairly launched
in the cause, and disengaged, as it were, from his former state of
existence, the natural power of his spirit to shake off pressure,
whether from within or without, began instantly to display itself.
According to the report of one of his fellow-voyagers, though so
clouded while on shore, no sooner did he find himself, once more,
bounding over the waters, than all the light and life of his better
nature shone forth. In the breeze that now bore him towards his
beloved Greece, the voice of his youth seemed again to speak. Before
the titles of hero, of benefactor, to which he now aspired, that of
poet, however pre-eminent, faded into nothing. His love of freedom,
his generosity, his thirst for the new and adventurous,--all were
re-awakened; and even the bodings that still lingered at the bottom
of his heart but made the course before him more precious from his
consciousness of its brevity, and from the high and self-ennobling
resolution he had now taken to turn what yet remained of it
gloriously to account.

  "Parte, e porta un desio d'eterna ed alma
  Gloria che a nobil cuor e sferza e sprone;
  A magnanime imprese intenta ha l'alma,
  Ed _insolite cose oprar_ dispone.
  Gir fra i nemici--_ivi o cipresso o palma_

After a passage of five days, they reached Leghorn, at which place it
was thought necessary to touch, for the purpose of taking on board a
supply of gunpowder, and other English goods, not to be had

It would have been the wish of Lord Byron, in the new path he had now
marked out for himself, to disconnect from his name, if possible, all
those poetical associations, which, by throwing a character of
romance over the step he was now taking, might have a tendency, as he
feared, to impair its practical utility; and it is, perhaps, hardly
saying too much for his sincere zeal in the cause to assert, that he
would willingly at this moment have sacrificed his whole fame, as
poet, for even the prospect of an equivalent renown, as
philanthropist and liberator. How vain, however, was the thought that
he could thus supersede his own glory, or cause the fame of the lyre
to be forgotten in that of the sword, was made manifest to him by a
mark of homage which reached him, while at Leghorn, from the hands of
one of the only two men of the age who could contend with him in the
universality of his literary fame.

Already, as has been seen, an exchange of courtesies, founded upon
mutual admiration, had taken place between Lord Byron and the great
poet of Germany, Goethe. Of this intercourse between two such
men,--the former as brief a light in the world's eyes, as the latter
has been long and steadily luminous,--an account has been by the
venerable survivor put on record, which, as a fit preliminary to the
letter I am about to give, I shall here insert in as faithful a
translation as it has been in my power to procure.


"The German poet, who, down to the latest period of his long life,
had been always anxious to acknowledge the merits of his literary
predecessors and contemporaries, because he has always considered
this to be the surest means of cultivating his own powers, could not
but have his attention attracted to the great talent of the noble
Lord almost from his earliest appearance, and uninterruptedly watched
the progress of his mind throughout the great works which he
unceasingly produced. It was immediately perceived by him that the
public appreciation of his poetical merits kept pace with the rapid
succession of his writings. The joyful sympathy of others would have
been perfect, had not the poet, by a life marked by
self-dissatisfaction, and the indulgence of strong passions,
disturbed the enjoyment which his infinite genius produced. But his
German admirer was not led astray by this, or prevented from
following with close attention both his works and his life in all
their eccentricity. These astonished him the more, as he found in the
experience of past ages no element for the calculation of so
eccentric an orbit.

"These endeavours of the German did not remain unknown to the
Englishman, of which his poems contain unambiguous proofs; and he
also availed himself of the means afforded by various travellers, to
forward some friendly salutation to his unknown admirer. At length a
manuscript Dedication of _Sardanapaius_, in the most complimentary
terms, was forwarded to him, with an obliging enquiry whether it
might be prefixed to the tragedy. The German, who, at his advanced
age, was conscious of his own powers and of their effects, could only
gratefully and modestly consider this Dedication as the expression of
an inexhaustible intellect, deeply feeling and creating its own
object. He was by no means dissatisfied when, after a long delay,
Sardanapaius appeared without the Dedication; and was made happy by
the possession of a fac-simile of it, engraved on stone, which he
considered a precious memorial.

The noble Lord, however, did not abandon his purpose of proclaiming
to the world his valued kindness towards his German contemporary and
brother poet, a precious evidence of which was placed in front of the
tragedy of Werner. It will be readily believed, when so unhoped for
an honour was conferred upon the German poet,--one seldom experienced
in life, and that too from one himself so highly distinguished,--he
was by no means reluctant to express the high esteem and sympathising
sentiment with which his unsurpassed contemporary had inspired him.
The task was difficult, and was found the more so, the more it was
contemplated;--for what can be said of one whose unfathomable
qualities are not to be reached by words? But when a young gentleman,
Mr. Sterling, of pleasing person and excellent character, in the
spring of 1823, on a journey from Genoa to Weimar, delivered a few
lines under the hand of the great man as an introduction, and when
the report was soon after spread that the noble Peer was about to
direct his great mind and various power to deeds of sublime daring
beyond the ocean, there appeared to be no time left for further
delay, and the following lines were hastily written[1]:--

[Footnote 1: I insert the verses in the original language, as an
English version gives but a very imperfect notion of their meaning.]

  "Ein freundlich Wort kommt eines nach dem andern
  Von Süden her und bringt uns frohe Stunden;
  Es ruft uns auf zum Edelsten zu wandern,
  Nich ist der Geist, doch ist der Fuss gebunden.

  "Wie soil ich dem, den ich so lang begleitet,
  Nun etwas Traulich's in die Ferne sagen?
  Ihm der sich selbst im Innersten bestreitet,
  Stark angewohnt das tiefste Weh zu tragen.

  "Wohl sey ihm doch, wenn er sich selbst empfindet!
  Er wage selbst sich hoch beglückt zu nennen,
  Wenn Musenkraft die Schmerzen überwindet,
  Und wie ich ihn erkannt mög' er sich kennen.

"The verses reached Genoa, but the excellent friend to whom they were
addressed was already gone, and to a distance, as it appeared,
inaccessible. Driven back, however, by storms, he landed at Leghorn,
where these cordial lines reached him just as he was about to embark,
on the 24th of July, 1823. He had barely time to answer by a
well-filled page, which the possessor has preserved among his most
precious papers, as the worthiest evidence of the connection that had
been formed. Affecting and delightful as was such a document, and
justifying the most lively hopes, it has acquired now the greatest,
though most painful value, from the untimely death of the lofty
writer, which adds a peculiar edge to the grief felt generally
throughout the whole moral and poetical world at his loss: for we
were warranted in hoping, that when his great deeds should have been
achieved, we might personally have greeted in him the pre-eminent
intellect, the happily acquired friend, and the most humane of
conquerors. At present we can only console ourselves with the
conviction that his country will at last recover from that violence
of invective and reproach which has been so long raised against him,
and will learn to understand that the dross and lees of the age and
the individual, out of which even the best have to elevate
themselves, are but perishable and transient, while the wonderful
glory to which he in the present and through all future ages has
elevated his country, will be as boundless in its splendour as it is
incalculable in its consequences. Nor can there be any doubt that the
nation, which can boast of so many great names, will class him among
the first of those through whom she has acquired such glory."

The following is Lord Byron's answer to the communication above
mentioned from Goethe:--


"Leghorn, July 24. 1823.

"Illustrious Sir,

"I cannot thank you as you ought to be thanked for the lines which my
young friend, Mr. Sterling, sent me of yours; and it would but ill
become me to pretend to exchange verses with him who, for fifty
years, has been the undisputed sovereign of European literature. You
must therefore accept my most sincere acknowledgments in prose--and
in hasty prose too; for I am at present on my voyage to Greece once
more, and surrounded by hurry and bustle, which hardly allow a moment
even to gratitude and admiration to express themselves.

"I sailed from Genoa some days ago, was driven back by a gale of
wind, and have since sailed again and arrived here, 'Leghorn,' this
morning, to receive on board some Greek passengers for their
struggling country.

"Here also I found your lines and Mr. Sterling's letter; and I could
not have had a more favourable omen, a more agreeable surprise, than
a word of Goethe, written by his own hand.

"I am returning to Greece, to see if I can be of any little use
there: if ever I come back, I will pay a visit to Weimar, to offer
the sincere homage of one of the many millions of your admirers. I
have the honour to be, ever and most,

"Your obliged,


From Leghorn, where his Lordship was joined by Mr. Hamilton Browne,
he set sail on the 24th of July, and, after about ten days of most
favourable weather, cast anchor at Argostoli, the chief port of

It had been thought expedient that Lord Byron should, with the view
of informing himself correctly respecting Greece, direct his course,
in the first instance, to one of the Ionian islands, from whence, as
from a post of observation, he might be able to ascertain the exact
position of affairs before he landed on the continent. For this
purpose it had been recommended that either Zante or Cephalonia
should be selected; and his choice was chiefly determined towards the
latter island by his knowledge of the talents and liberal feelings of
the Resident, Colonel Napier. Aware, however, that, in the yet
doubtful aspect of the foreign policy of England, his arrival thus on
an expedition so declaredly in aid of insurrection might have the
effect of embarrassing the existing authorities, he resolved to adopt
such a line of conduct as would be the least calculated either to
compromise or offend them. It was with this view he now thought it
prudent not to land at Argostoli, but to await on board his vessel
such information from the Government of Greece as should enable him
to decide upon his further movements.

The arrival of a person so celebrated at Argostoli excited naturally
a lively sensation, as well among the Greeks as the English of that
place; and the first approaches towards intercourse between the
latter and their noble visiter were followed instantly, on both
sides, by that sort of agreeable surprise which, from the false
notions they had preconceived of each other, was to be expected. His
countrymen, who, from the exaggerated stories they had so often heard
of his misanthropy and especial horror of the English, expected their
courtesies to be received with a haughty, if not insulting coldness,
found, on the contrary, in all his demeanour a degree of open and
cheerful affability which, calculated, as it was, to charm under any
circumstances, was to them, expecting so much the reverse, peculiarly
fascinating;--while he, on his side, even still more sensitively
prepared, by a long course of brooding over his own fancies, for a
cold and reluctant reception from his countrymen, found himself
greeted at once with a welcome so cordial and respectful as not only
surprised and flattered, but, it was evident, sensibly touched him.
Among other hospitalities accepted by him was a dinner with the
officers of the garrison, at which, on his health being drunk, he is
reported to have said, in returning thanks, that "he was doubtful
whether he could express his sense of the obligation as he ought,
having been so long in the practice of speaking a foreign language
that it was with some difficulty he could convey the whole force of
what he felt in his own."

Having despatched messengers to Corfu and Missolonghi in quest of
information, he resolved, while waiting their return, to employ his
time in a journey to Ithaca, which island is separated from that of
Cephalonia but by a narrow strait. On his way to Vathi, the chief
city of the island, to which place he had been invited, and his
journey hospitably facilitated, by the Resident, Captain Knox, he
paid a visit to the mountain-cave in which, according to tradition,
Ulysses deposited the presents of the Phæacians. "Lord Byron (says
Count Gamba) ascended to the grotto, but the steepness and height
prevented him from reaching the remains of the Castle. I myself
experienced considerable difficulty in gaining it. Lord Byron sat
reading in the grotto, but fell asleep. I awoke him on my return, and
he said that I had interrupted dreams more pleasant than ever he had
before in his life."

Though unchanged, since he first visited these regions, in his
preference of the wild charms of Nature to all the classic
associations of Art and History, he yet joined with much interest in
any pilgrimage to those places which tradition had sanctified. At the
Fountain of Arethusa, one of the spots of this kind which he visited,
a repast had been prepared for himself and his party by the Resident;
and at the School of Homer,--as some remains beyond Chioni are
called,--he met with an old refugee bishop, whom he had known
thirteen years before in Livadia, and with whom he now conversed of
those times, with a rapidity and freshness of recollection with which
the memory of the old bishop could but ill keep pace. Neither did the
traditional Baths of Penelope escape his research; and "however
sceptical (says a lady, who, soon after, followed his footsteps,) he
might have been as to these supposed localities, he never offended
the natives by any objection to the reality of their fancies. On the
contrary, his politeness and kindness won the respect and admiration
of all those Greek gentlemen who saw him; and to me they spoke of him
with enthusiasm."

Those benevolent views by which, even more, perhaps, than by any
ambition of renown, he proved himself to be actuated in his present
course, had, during his short stay at Ithaca, opportunities of
disclosing themselves. On learning that a number of poor families had
fled thither from Scio, Patras, and other parts of Greece, he not
only presented to the Commandant three thousand piastres for their
relief, but by his generosity to one family in particular, which had
once been in a state of affluence at Patras, enabled them to repair
their circumstances and again live in comfort. "The eldest girl (says
the lady whom I have already quoted) became afterwards the mistress
of the school formed at Ithaca; and neither she, her sister, nor
mother, could ever speak of Lord Byron without the deepest feeling of
gratitude, and of regret for his too premature death."

After occupying in this excursion about eight days, he had again
established himself on board the Hercules, when one of the messengers
whom he had despatched returned, bringing a letter to him from the
brave Marco Botzari, whom he had left among the mountains of Agrafa,
preparing for that attack in which he so gloriously fell. The
following are the terms in which this heroic chief wrote to Lord

"Your letter, and that of the venerable Ignazio, have filled me with
joy. Your Excellency is exactly the person of whom we stand in need.
Let nothing prevent you from coming into this part of Greece. The
enemy threatens us in great number; but, by the help of God and your
Excellency, they shall meet a suitable resistance. I shall have
something to do to-night against a corps of six or seven thousand
Albanians, encamped close to this place. The day after to-morrow I
will set out with a few chosen companions, to meet your Excellency.
Do not delay. I thank you for the good opinion you have of my
fellow-citizens, which God grant you will not find ill-founded; and I
thank you still more for the care you have so kindly taken of them.

"Believe me," &c.

In the expectation that Lord Byron would proceed forthwith to
Missolonghi, it had been the intention of Botzari, as the above
letter announces, to leave the army, and hasten, with a few of his
brother warriors, to receive their noble ally on his landing in a
manner worthy of the generous mission on which he came. The above
letter, however, preceded but by a few hours his death. That very
night he penetrated, with but a handful of followers, into the midst
of the enemy's camp, whose force was eight thousand strong, and after
leading his heroic band over heaps of dead, fell, at last, close to
the tent of the Pasha himself.

The mention made in this brave Suliote's letter of Lord Byron's care
of his fellow-citizens refers to a popular act done recently by the
noble poet at Cephalonia, in taking into his pay, as a body-guard,
forty of this now homeless tribe. On finding, however, that for want
of employment they were becoming restless and turbulent, he
despatched them off soon after, armed and provisioned, to join in the
defence of Missolonghi, which was at that time besieged on one side
by a considerable force, and blockaded on the other by a Turkish
squadron. Already had he, with a view to the succour of this place,
made a generous offer to the Government, which he thus states himself
in one of his letters:--"I offered to advance a thousand dollars a
month for the succour of Missolonghi, and the Suliotes under Botzari
(since killed); but the Government have answered me, that they wish
to confer with me previously, which is in fact saying they wish me to
expend my money in some other direction. I will take care that it is
for the public cause, otherwise I will not advance a para. The
opposition say they want to cajole me, and the party in power say the
others wish to seduce me, so between the two I have a difficult part
to play; however, I will have nothing to do with the factions unless
to reconcile them if possible."

In these last few sentences is described briefly the position in
which Lord Byron was now placed, and in which the coolness,
foresight, and self-possession he displayed sufficiently refute the
notion that even the highest powers of imagination, whatever effect
they may sometimes produce on the moral temperament, are at all
incompatible with the sound practical good sense, the steadily
balanced views, which the business of active life requires.

The great difficulty, to an observer of the state of Greece at this
crisis, was to be able clearly to distinguish between what was real
and what was merely apparent in those tests by which the probability
of her future success or failure was to be judged. With a Government
little more than nominal, having neither authority nor resources, its
executive and legislative branches being openly at variance, and the
supplies that ought to fill its exchequer being intercepted by the
military Chiefs, who, as they were, in most places, collectors of the
revenue, were able to rob by authority;--with that curse of all
popular enterprises, a multiplicity of leaders, each selfishly
pursuing his own objects, and ready to make the sword the umpire of
their claims;--with a fleet furnished by private adventure, and
therefore precarious; and an army belonging rather to its Chiefs than
to the Government, and, accordingly, trusting more to plunder than to
pay;--with all these principles of mischief, and, as it would seem,
ruin at the very heart of the struggle, it had yet persevered, which
was in itself victory, through three trying campaigns; and at this
moment presented, in the midst of all its apparent weakness and
distraction, some elements of success which both accounted for what
had hitherto been effected, and gave a hope, with more favouring
circumstances, of something nobler yet to come.

Besides the never-failing encouragement which the incapacity of their
enemies afforded them, the Greeks derived also from the geographical
conformation of their country those same advantages with which nature
had blessed their great ancestors, and which had contributed mainly
perhaps to the formation, as well as maintenance, of their high
national character. Islanders and mountaineers, they were, by their
very position, heirs to the blessings of freedom and commerce; nor
had the spirit of either, through all their long slavery and
sufferings, ever wholly died away. They had also, luckily, in a
political as well as religious point of view, preserved that sacred
line of distinction between themselves and their conquerors which a
fond fidelity to an ancient church could alone have maintained for
them;--keeping thus holily in reserve, against the hour of struggle,
that most stirring of all the excitements to which Freedom can appeal
when she points to her flame rising out of the censer of Religion. In
addition to these, and all the other moral advantages included in
them, for which the Greeks were indebted to their own nature and
position, is to be taken also into account the aid and sympathy they
had every right to expect from others, as soon as their exertions in
their own cause should justify the confidence that it would be
something more than the mere chivalry of generosity to assist

[Footnote 1: For a clear and concise sketch of the state of Greece at
this crisis, executed with all that command of the subject which a
long residence in the country alone could give, see Colonel Leake's
"Historical Outline of the Greek Revolution."]

Such seem to have been the chief features of hope which the state of
Greece, at this moment, presented. But though giving promise,
perhaps, of a lengthened continuance of the struggle, they, in that
very promise, postponed indefinitely the period of its success; and
checked and counteracted as were these auspicious appearances by the
manifold and inherent evils above enumerated,--by a consideration,
too, of the resources and obstinacy of the still powerful Turk, and
of the little favour with which it was at all probable that the
Courts of Europe would ever regard the attempt of any people, under
any circumstances, to be their own emancipators,--none, assuredly,
but a most sanguine spirit could indulge in the dream that Greece
would be able to work out her own liberation, or that aught, indeed,
but a fortuitous concurrence of political circumstances could ever
accomplish it. Like many other such contests between right and might,
it was a cause destined, all felt, to be successful, but at its own
ripe hour;--a cause which individuals might keep alive, but which
events, wholly independent of them, alone could accomplish, and
which, after the hearts, and hopes, and lives of all its bravest
defenders had been wasted upon it, would at last to other hands, and
even to other means than those contemplated by its first champions,
owe its completion.

That Lord Byron, on a nearer view of the state of Greece, saw it much
in the light I have here regarded it in, his letters leave no room to
doubt. Neither was the impression he had early received of the Greeks
themselves at all improved by the present renewal of his acquaintance
with them. Though making full allowance for the causes that had
produced their degeneracy, he still saw that they were grossly
degenerate, and must be dealt with and counted upon accordingly. "I
am of St. Paul's opinion," said he, "that there is no difference
between Jews and Greeks,--the character of both being equally vile."
With such means and materials, the work of regeneration, he knew,
must be slow; and the hopelessness he therefore felt as to the
chances of ever connecting his name with any essential or permanent
benefit to Greece, gives to the sacrifice he now made of himself a
far more touching interest than had the consciousness of dying for
some great object been at once his incitement and reward. He but
looked upon himself,--to use a favourite illustration of his own,--as
one of the many waves that must break and die upon the shore, before
the tide they help to advance can reach its full mark. "What
signifies Self," was his generous thought, "if a single spark of that
which would be worthy of the past can be bequeathed unquenchedly to
the future?"[1] Such was the devoted feeling with which he embarked
in the cause of Italy; and these words, which, had they remained
_only_ words, the unjust world would have pronounced but an idle
boast, have now received from his whole course in Greece a practical
comment, which gives them all the right of truth to be engraved
solemnly on his tomb.

[Footnote 1: _Diary of_ 1821.--The same distrustful and, as it turned
out, just view of the chances of success were taken by him also on
that occasion:--"I shall not," he says, "fall back;--though I don't
think them in force or heart sufficient to make much of it."]

Though with so little hope of being able to serve signally the cause,
the task of at least lightening, by his interposition, some of the
manifold mischiefs that pressed upon it, might yet, he thought, be
within his reach. To convince the Government and the Chiefs of the
paralysing effect of their dissensions;--to inculcate that spirit of
union among themselves which alone could give strength against their
enemies;--to endeavour to humanise the feelings of the belligerents
on both sides, so as to take from the war that character of barbarism
which deterred the more civilised friends of freedom through Europe
from joining in it;--such were, in addition to the now essential aid
of his money, the great objects which he proposed to effect by his
interference; and to these he accordingly, with all the candour,
clear-sightedness, and courage which so pre-eminently distinguished
his great mind, applied himself.

Aware that, to judge deliberately of the state of parties, he must
keep out of their vortex, and warned, by the very impatience and
rivalry with which the different chiefs courted his presence, of the
risk he should run by connecting himself with any, he resolved to
remain, for some time longer, in his station at Cephalonia, and there
avail himself of the facilities afforded by the position for
collecting information as to the real state of affairs, and
ascertaining in what quarter his own presence and money would be most
available. During the six weeks that had elapsed since his arrival at
Cephalonia, he had been living in the most comfortless manner, pent
up with pigs and poultry, on board the vessel which brought him.
Having now come, however, to the determination of prolonging his
stay, he decided also upon fixing his abode on shore; and, for the
sake of privacy, retired to a small village, called Metaxata, about
seven miles from Argostoli, where he continued to reside during the
remainder of his stay on the island.

Before this change of residence, he had despatched Mr. Hamilton
Browne and Mr. Trelawney with a letter to the existing Government of
Greece, explanatory of his own views and those of the Committee whom
he represented; and it was not till a month after his removal to
Metaxata that intelligence from these gentlemen reached him. The
picture they gave of the state of the country was, in most respects,
confirmatory of what has already been described as his own view of
it;--incapacity and selfishness at the head of affairs,
disorganisation throughout the whole body politic, but still, with
all this, the heart of the nation sound, and bent on resistance. Nor
could he have failed to be struck with the close family resemblance
to the ancient race of the country which this picture
exhibited;--that great people, in the very midst of their own endless
dissensions, having been ever ready to face round in concert against
the foe.

His Lordship's agents had been received with all due welcome by the
Government, who were most desirous that he should set out for the
Morea without delay; and pressing letters to the same purport, both
from the Legislative and Executive bodies, accompanied those which
reached him from Messrs. Browne and Trelawney. He was, however,
determined not to move till his own selected time, having seen
reason, the farther insight he obtained into their intrigues, to
congratulate himself but the more on his prudence in not plunging
into the maze without being first furnished with those guards against
deception which the information he was now acquiring supplied him.

To give an idea, as briefly as possible, of the sort of conflicting
calls that were from various scenes of action, reaching him in his
retirement, it may be sufficient to mention that, while by Metaxa,
the present governor of Missolonghi, he was entreated earnestly to
hasten to the relief of that place, which the Turks were now
blockading both by land and by sea, the head of the military chiefs,
Colocotroni, was no less earnestly urging that he should present
himself at the approaching congress of Salamis, where, under the
dictation of these rude warriors, the affairs of the country were to
be settled,--while at the same time, from another quarter, the great
opponent of these chieftains, Mavrocordato, was, with more urgency,
as well as more ability than any, endeavouring to impress upon him
his own views, and imploring his presence at Hydra, whither he
himself had just been forced to retire.

The mere knowledge, indeed, that a noble Englishman had arrived in
those regions, so unprepossessed by any party as to inspire a hope of
his alliance in all, and with money, by common rumour, as abundant as
the imaginations of the needy chose to make it, was, in itself, fully
sufficient, without any of the more elevated claims of his name, to
attract towards him all thoughts. "It is easier to conceive," says
Count Gamba, "than to relate the various means employed to engage him
in one faction or the other: letters, messengers, intrigues, and
recriminations,--nay, each faction had its agents exerting every art
to degrade its opponent." He then adds a circumstance strongly
illustrative of a peculiar feature in the noble poet's
character:--"He occupied himself in discovering the truth, hidden as
it was under these intrigues, and _amused himself in confronting the
agents of the different factions_."

During all these occupations he went on pursuing his usual simple and
uniform course of life,--rising, however, for the despatch of
business, at an early hour, which showed how capable he was of
conquering even long habit when necessary. Though so much occupied,
too, he was, at all hours, accessible to visitors; and the facility
with which he allowed even the dullest people to break in upon him
was exemplified, I am told, strongly in the case of one of the
officers of the garrison, who, without being able to understand any
thing of the poet but his good-nature, used to say, whenever he found
his time hang heavily on his hands,--"I think I shall ride out and
have a little talk with Lord Byron."

The person, however, whose visits appeared to give him most pleasure,
as well from the interest he took in the subject on which they
chiefly conversed, as from the opportunities, sometimes, of
pleasantry which the peculiarities of his visiter afforded him, was a
medical gentleman named Kennedy, who, from a strong sense of the
value of religion to himself, had taken up the benevolent task of
communicating his own light to others. The first origin of their
intercourse was an undertaking, on the part of this gentleman, to
convert to a firm belief in Christianity some rather sceptical
friends of his, then at Argostoli. Happening to hear of the meeting
appointed for this purpose, Lord Byron begged that he might be
allowed to attend, saying to the person through whom he conveyed his
request, "You know I am reckoned a black sheep,--yet, after all, not
so black as the world believes me." He had promised to convince Dr.
Kennedy that, "though wanting, perhaps, in faith, he at least had
patience:" but the process of so many hours of lecture,--no less than
twelve, without interruption, being stipulated for,--was a trial
beyond his strength; and, very early in the operation, as the Doctor
informs us, he began to show evident signs of a wish to exchange the
part of hearer for that of speaker. Notwithstanding this, however,
there was in all his deportment, both as listener and talker, such a
degree of courtesy, candour, and sincere readiness to be taught, as
excited interest, if not hope, for his future welfare in the good
Doctor; and though he never after attended the more numerous
meetings, his conferences, on the same subject, with Dr. Kennedy
alone, were not infrequent during the remainder of his stay at

These curious conversations are now published; and to the value which
they possess as a simple and popular exposition of the chief
evidences of Christianity, is added the charm that must ever dwell
round the character of one of the interlocutors, and the almost
fearful interest attached to every word that, on such a subject, he
utters. In the course of the first conversation, it will be seen that
Lord Byron expressly disclaimed being one of those infidels "who deny
the Scriptures, and wish to remain in unbelief." On the contrary, he
professed himself "desirous to believe; as he experienced no
happiness in having his religious opinions so unfixed." He was
unable, however, he added, "to understand the Scriptures. Those who
conscientiously believed them he could always respect, and was always
disposed to trust in them more than in others; but he had met with so
many whose conduct differed from the principles which they professed,
and who seemed to profess those principles either because they were
paid to do so, or from some other motive which an intimate
acquaintance with their character would enable one to detect, that
altogether he had seen few, if any, whom he could rely upon as truly
and conscientiously believing the Scriptures."

We may take for granted that these Conversations,--more especially
the first, from the number of persons present who would report the
proceedings,--excited considerable interest among the society of
Argostoli. It was said that Lord Byron had displayed such a profound
knowledge of the Scriptures as astonished, and even puzzled, the
polemic Doctor; while in all the eminent writers on theological
subjects he had shown himself far better versed than his more
pretending opponent. All this Dr. Kennedy strongly denies; and the
truth seems to be, that on neither side were there much stores of
theological learning. The confession of the lecturer himself, that he
had not read the works of Stillingfleet or Barrow, shows that, in his
researches after orthodoxy, he had not allowed himself any very
extensive range; while the alleged familiarity of Lord Byron with the
same authorities must be taken with a similar abatement of credence
and wonder to that which his own account of his youthful studies,
already given, requires;--a rapid eye and retentive memory having
enabled him, on this as on most other subjects, to catch, as it were,
the salient points on the surface of knowledge, and the recollections
he thus gathered being, perhaps, the livelier from his not having
encumbered himself with more. To any regular train of reasoning, even
on this his most favourite topic, it was not possible to lead him. He
would start objections to the arguments of others, and detect their
fallacies; but of any consecutive ratiocination on his own side he
seemed, if not incapable, impatient. In this, indeed, as in many
other peculiarities belonging to him,--his caprices, fits of weeping,
sudden affections and dislikes,--may be observed striking traces of a
feminine cast of character;--it being observable that the discursive
faculty is rarely exercised by women; but that nevertheless, by the
mere instinct of truth (as was the case with Lord Byron), they are
often enabled at once to light upon the very conclusion to which man,
through all the forms of reasoning, is, in the mean time, puzzling,
and, perhaps, losing his way:--

  "And strikes each point with native force of mind,
  While puzzled logic blunders far behind."

Of the Scriptures, it is certain that Lord Byron was a frequent and
almost daily reader,--the small pocket Bible which, on his leaving
England, had been given him by his sister, being always near him. How
much, in addition to his natural solicitude on the subject of
religion, the taste of the poet influenced him in this line of study,
may be seen in his frequently expressed admiration of "the
ghost-scene," as he called it, in Samuel, and his comparison of this
supernatural appearance with the Mephistopheles of Goethe. In the
same manner, his imagination appears to have been much struck by the
notion of his lecturer, that the circumstance mentioned in Job of the
Almighty summoning Satan into his presence was to be interpreted,
not, as he thought, allegorically and poetically, but literally. More
than once we find him expressing to Dr. Kennedy "how much this belief
of the real appearance of Satan to hear and obey the commands of God
added to his views of the grandeur and majesty of the Creator."

On the whole, the interest of these Conversations, as far as regards
Lord Byron, arises not so much from any new or certain lights they
supply us with on the subject of his religious opinions, as from the
evidence they afford of his amiable facility of intercourse, the
total absence of bigotry or prejudice from even his most favourite
notions, and--what may be accounted, perhaps, the next step in
conversion to belief itself--his disposition to believe. As far,
indeed, as a frank submission to the charge of being wrong may be
supposed to imply an advance on the road to being right, few persons,
it must be acknowledged, under a process of proselytism, ever showed
more of this desired symptom of change than Lord Byron. "I own," says
a witness to one of these conversations[1], "I felt astonished to
hear Lord Byron submit to lectures on his life, his vanity, and the
uselessness of his talents, which made me stare."

[Footnote 1: Mr. Finlay.]

As most persons will be tempted to refer to the work itself, there
are but one or two other opinions of his Lordship recorded in it
which I shall think necessary to notice here. A frequent question of
his to Dr. Kennedy was,--"What, then, you think me in a very bad
way?"--the usual answer to which being in the affirmative, he, on one
occasion, replied,--"I am now, however, in a fairer way. I already
believe in predestination, which I know you believe, and in the
depravity of the human heart in general, and of my own in
particular:--thus you see there are two points in which we agree. I
shall get at the others by and by; but you cannot expect me to become
a perfect Christian at once." On the subject of Dr. Southwood's
amiable and, it is to be hoped for the sake of Christianity and the
human race, _orthodox_ work on "The Divine Government," he thus
spoke:--"I cannot decide the point; but to my present apprehension it
would be a most desirable thing could it be proved, that ultimately
all created beings were to be happy. This would appear to be most
consistent with God, whose power is omnipotent, and whose chief
attribute is Love. I cannot yield to your doctrine of the eternal
duration of punishment. This author's opinion is more humane, and I
think he supports it very strongly from Scripture."

I shall now insert, with such explanatory remarks as they may seem to
require, some of the letters, official as well as private, which his
Lordship wrote while at Cephalonia; and from which the reader may
collect, in a manner far more interesting than through the medium of
any narrative, a knowledge both of the events now passing in Greece,
and of the views and feelings with which they were regarded by Lord

To Madame Guiccioli he wrote frequently, but briefly, and, for the
first time, in English; adding always a few lines in her brother
Pietro's letters to her. The following are extracts.

"October 7.

"Pietro has told you all the gossip of the island,--our earthquakes,
our politics, and present abode in a pretty village. As his opinions
and mine on the Greeks are nearly similar, I need say little on that
subject. I was a fool to come here; but, being here, I must see what
is to be done."

"October ----.

"We are still in Cephalonia, waiting for news of a more accurate
description; for all is contradiction and division in the reports of
the state of the Greeks. I shall fulfil the object of my mission from
the Committee, and then return into Italy; for it does not seem
likely that, as an individual, I can be of use to them;--at least no
other foreigner has yet appeared to be so, nor does it seem likely
that any will be at present.

"Pray be as cheerful and tranquil as you can; and be assured that
there is nothing here that can excite any thing but a wish to be with
you again,--though we are very kindly treated by the English here of
all descriptions. Of the Greeks, I can't say much good hitherto, and
I do not like to speak ill of them, though they do of one another."

"October 29.

"You may be sure that the moment I can join you again, will be as
welcome to me as at any period of our recollection. There is nothing
very attractive here to divide my attention; but I must attend to the
Greek cause, both from honour and inclination. Messrs. B. and T. are
both in the Morea, where they have been very well received, and both
of them write in good spirits and hopes. I am anxious to hear how the
Spanish cause will be arranged, as I think it may have an influence
on the Greek contest. I wish that both were fairly and favourably
settled, that I might return to Italy, and talk over with you _our_,
or rather Pietro's adventures, some of which are rather amusing, as
also some of the incidents of our voyages and travels. But I reserve
them, in the hope that we may laugh over them together at no very
distant period."


"9bre 29. 1823.

"This letter will be presented to you by Mr. Hamilton Browne, who
precedes or accompanies the Greek deputies. He is both capable and
desirous of rendering any service to the cause, and information to
the Committee. He has already been of considerable advantage to both,
of my own knowledge. Lord Archibald Hamilton, to whom he is related,
will add a weightier recommendation than mine.

"Corinth is taken, and a Turkish squadron said to be beaten in the
Archipelago. The public progress of the Greeks is considerable, but
their internal dissensions still continue. On arriving at the seat of
Government, I shall endeavour to mitigate or extinguish them--though
neither is an easy task. I have remained here till now, partly in
expectation of the squadron in relief of Missolonghi, partly of Mr.
Parry's detachment, and partly to receive from Malta or Zante the sum
of four thousand pounds sterling, which I have advanced for the
payment of the expected squadron. The bills are negotiating, and will
be cashed in a short time, as they would have been immediately in any
other mart; but the miserable Ionian merchants have little money, and
no great credit, and are besides _politically shy_ on this occasion;
for although I had letters of Messrs. Webb (one of the strongest
houses of the Mediterranean), and also of Messrs. Ransom, there is no
business to be done on _fair_ terms except through English merchants.
These, however, have proved both able and willing,--and upright as

[Footnote 1: The English merchants whom he thus so justly describes,
are Messrs. Barff and Hancock, of Zante, whose conduct, not only in
the instance of Lord Byron, but throughout the whole Greek struggle,
has been uniformly most zealous and disinterested.]

"Colonel Stanhope has arrived, and will proceed immediately; he shall
have my co-operation in all his endeavours: but, from every thing
that I can learn, the formation of a brigade at present will be
extremely difficult, to say the least of it. With regard to the
reception of foreigners,--at least of foreign officers,--I refer you
to a passage in Prince Mavrocordato's recent letter, a copy of which
is enclosed in my packet sent to the Deputies. It is my intention to
proceed by sea to Napoli di Romania as soon as I have arranged this
business for the Greeks themselves--I mean the advance of two hundred
thousand piastres for their fleet.

"My time here has not been entirely lost,--as you will perceive by
some former documents that any advantage from my _then_ proceeding to
the Morea was doubtful. We have at last moved the Deputies, and I
have made a strong remonstrance on their divisions to Mavrocordato,
which, I understand, was forwarded by the Legislative to the Prince.
With a loan they _may_ do much, which is all that _I_, for particular
reasons, can say on the subject.

"I regret to hear from Colonel Stanhope that the Committee have
exhausted their funds. Is it supposed that a brigade can be formed
without them? or that three thousand pounds would be sufficient? It
is true that money will go farther in Greece than in most countries;
but the regular force must be rendered a _national concern_, and paid
from a national fund; and neither individuals nor committees, at
least with the usual means of such as now exist, will find the
experiment practicable.

"I beg once more to recommend my friend, Mr. Hamilton Browne, to whom
I have also personal obligations, for his exertions in the common
cause, and have the honour to be

"Yours very truly."

His remonstrance to Prince Mavrocordato, here mentioned, was
accompanied by another, addressed to the existing Government; and
Colonel Stanhope, who was about to proceed to Napoli and Argos, was
made the bearer of both. The wise and noble spirit that pervades
these two papers must, of itself, without any further comment, be
appreciated by all readers.[1]

[Footnote 1: The originals of both are in Italian.]



"Cephalonia, November 30. 1823.

"The affair of the Loan, the expectations so long and vainly indulged
of the arrival of the Greek fleet, and the danger to which
Missolonghi is still exposed, have detained me here, and will still
detain me till some of them are removed. But when the money shall be
advanced for the fleet, I will start for the Morea; not knowing,
however, of what use my presence can be in the present state of
things. We have heard some rumours of new dissensions, nay, of the
existence of a civil war. With all my heart I pray that these reports
may be false or exaggerated, for I can imagine no calamity more
serious than this; and I must frankly confess, that unless union and
order are established, all hopes of a Loan will be vain; and all the
assistance which the Greeks could expect from abroad--an assistance
neither trifling nor worthless--will be suspended or destroyed; and,
what is worse, the great powers of Europe, of whom no one was an
enemy to Greece, but seemed to favour her establishment of an
independent power, will be persuaded that the Greeks are unable to
govern themselves, and will, perhaps, themselves undertake to settle
your disorders in such a way as to blast the brightest hopes of
yourselves and of your friends.

"Allow me to add, once for all,--I desire the well-being of Greece,
and nothing else; I will do all I can to secure it; but I cannot
consent, I never will consent, that the English public, or English
individuals, should be deceived as to the real state of Greek
affairs. The rest, Gentlemen, depends on you. You have fought
gloriously;--act honourably towards your fellow-citizens and the
world, and it will then no more be said, as has been repeated for two
thousand years with the Roman historians, that Philopoemen was the
last of the Grecians. Let not calumny itself (and it is difficult, I
own, to guard against it in so arduous a struggle,) compare the
patriot Greek, when resting from his labours, to the Turkish pacha,
whom his victories have exterminated.

"I pray you to accept these my sentiments as a sincere proof of my
attachment to your real interests, and to believe that I am and
always shall be

"Yours," &c.


"Cephalonia, Dec. 2. 1823.


"The present will be put into your hands by Colonel Stanhope, son of
Major-General the Earl of Harrington, &c. &c. He has arrived from
London in fifty days, after having visited all the Committees of
Germany. He is charged by our Committee to act in concert with me for
the liberation of Greece. I conceive that his name and his mission
will be a sufficient recommendation, without the necessity of any
other from a foreigner, although one who, in common with all Europe,
respects and admires the courage, the talents, and, above all, the
probity of Prince Mavrocordato.

"I am very uneasy at hearing that the dissensions of Greece still
continue, and at a moment when she might triumph over every thing in
general, as she has already triumphed in part. Greece is, at present,
placed between three measures: either to reconquer her liberty, to
become a dependence of the sovereigns of Europe, or to return to a
Turkish province. She has the choice only of these three
alternatives. Civil war is but a road which leads to the two latter.
If she is desirous of the fate of Walachia and the Crimea, she may
obtain it to-morrow; if of that of Italy, the day after; but if she
wishes to become truly Greece, free and independent, she must resolve
to-day, or she will never again have the opportunity.

"I am, with all respect,

"Your Highness's obedient servant,

"N. B.

"P.S. Your Highness will already have known that I have sought to
fulfil the wishes of the Greek government, as much as it lay in my
power to do so: but I should wish that the fleet so long and so
vainly expected were arrived, or, at least, that it were on the way;
and especially that your Highness should approach these parts, either
on board the fleet, with a public mission, or in some other manner."


"10bre 7. 1823.

"I confirm the above[1]: it is certainly my opinion that Mr.
Millingen is entitled to the same salary with Mr. Tindall, and his
service is likely to be harder.

[Footnote 1: He here alludes to a letter, forwarded with his own,
from Mr. Millingen, who was about to join, in his medical capacity,
the Suliotes, near Fatras, and requested of the Committee an increase
of pay. This gentleman, having mentioned in his letter "that the
retreat of the Turks from before Missolonghi had rendered unnecessary
the appearance of the Greek fleet," Lord Byron, in a note on this
passage, says, "By the special providence of the Deity, the
Mussulmans were seized with a panic, and fled; but no thanks to the
fleet, which ought to have been here months ago, and has no excuse to
the contrary, lately--at least since I had the money ready to pay."

On another passage, in which Mr. Millingen complains that his hope of
any remuneration from the Greeks has "turned out perfectly
chimerical," Lord Byron remarks, in a note, "and _will_ do so, till
they obtain a loan. They have not a rap, nor credit (in the islands)
to raise one. A medical man may succeed better than others; but all
these penniless officers had better have stayed at home. Much money
may not be required, but some must."]

"I have written to you (as to Mr. Hobhouse _for_ your perusal) by
various opportunities, mostly private; also by the Deputies, and by
Mr. Hamilton Browne.

"The public success of the Greeks has been considerable,--Corinth
taken, Missolonghi nearly safe, and some ships in the Archipelago
taken from the Turks; but there is not only dissension in the Morea,
but _civil war_, by the latest accounts[1]; to what extent we do not
yet know, but hope trifling.

[Footnote 1: The Legislative and Executive bodies having been for
some time at variance, the latter had at length resorted to violence,
and some skirmishes had already taken place between the factions.]

"For six weeks I have been expecting the fleet, _which has not
arrived_, though I have, at the request of the Greek Government,
advanced--that is, prepared, and have in hand two hundred thousand
piastres (deducting the commission and bankers' charges) of my own
monies to forward their projects. The Suliotes (now in Acarnania) are
very anxious that I should take them under my directions, and go over
and put things to rights in the Morea, which, without a force, seems
impracticable; and, really, though very reluctant (as my letters will
have shown you) to take such a measure, there seems hardly any milder
remedy. However, I will not do any thing rashly, and have only
continued here so long in the hope of seeing things reconciled, and
have done all in my power thereto. Had _I gone sooner, they would
have forced me into one party or other_, and I doubt as much now; but
we will do our best.

"Yours," &c.


"October 10. 1823.

"Colonel Napier will present to you this letter. Of his military
character it were superfluous to speak: of his personal, I can say,
from my own knowledge, as well as from all public rumour or private
report, that it is as excellent as his military: in short, a better
or a braver man is not easily to be found. _He_ is our man to lead a
regular force, or to organise a national one for the Greeks. Ask the
army--ask any one. He is besides a personal friend of both Prince
Mavrocordato, Colonel Stanhope, and myself, and in such concord with
all three that we should all pull together--an indispensable, as well
as a rare point, especially in Greece at present.

"To enable a regular force to be properly organised, it will be
requisite for the loan-holders to set apart at least 50,000_l_.
sterling for that particular purpose--perhaps more; but by so doing
they will guarantee their own monies, 'and make assurance doubly
sure.' They can appoint commissioners to see that part property
expended--and I recommend a similar precaution for the whole.

"I hope that the deputies have arrived, as well as some of my various
despatches (chiefly addressed to Mr. Hobhouse) for the Committee.
Colonel Napier will tell you the recent special interposition of the
gods, in behalf of the Greeks--who seem to have no enemies in heaven
or on earth to be dreaded but their own tendency to discord amongst
themselves. But these, too, it is to be hoped, will be mitigated, and
then we can take the field on the offensive, instead of being reduced
to the _petite guerre_ of defending the same fortresses year after
year, and taking a few ships, and starving out a castle, and making
more fuss about them than Alexander in his cups, or Buonaparte in a
bulletin. Our friends have done something in the way of the
_Spartans_--(though not one tenth of what is told)--but have not yet
inherited _their_ style.

"Believe me yours," &c.


"October 13. 1823.

"Since I wrote to you on the 10th instant, the long-desired squadron
has arrived in the waters of Missolonghi and intercepted two Turkish
corvettes--ditto transports--destroying or taking all four--except
some of the crews escaped on shore in Ithaca--and an unarmed vessel,
with passengers, chased into a port on the opposite side of
Cephalonia. The Greeks had fourteen sail, the Turks _four_--but the
odds don't matter--the victory will make a very good _puff_, and be
of some advantage besides. I expect momentarily advices from Prince
Mavrocordato, who is on board, and has (I understand) despatches from
the Legislative for me; in consequence of which, after paying the
squadron, (for which I have prepared, and am preparing,) I shall
probably join him at sea or on shore.

"I add the above communication to my letter by Col. Napier, who will
inform the Committee of every thing in detail much better than I can

"The mathematical, medical, and musical preparations of the Committee
have arrived, and in good condition, abating some damage from wet,
and some ditto from a portion of the letter-press being spilt in
landing--(I ought not to have omitted the press--but forgot it a
moment--excuse the same)--they are excellent of their kind, but till
we have an engineer and a trumpeter (we have chirurgeons already)
mere 'pearls to swine,' as the Greeks are quite ignorant of
mathematics, and have a bad ear for _our_ music. The maps, &c. I will
put into use for them, and take care that _all_ (with proper caution)
are turned to the intended uses of the Committee--but I refer you to
Colonel Napier, who will tell you, that much of your really valuable
supplies should be removed till proper persons arrive to adapt them
to actual service.

"Believe me, my dear Sir, to be, &c.

"P.S. _Private_--I have written to our friend Douglas Kinnaird on my
own matters, desiring him to send me out all the' further credits I
can command,--and I have a year's income, and the sale of a manor
besides, he tells me, before me,--for till the Greeks get _their_
Loan, it is probable that I shall have to stand partly paymaster--as
far as I am 'good upon _Change_,' that is to say. I pray you to
repeat as much to _him_, and say that I must in the interim draw on
Messrs. Ransom most formidably. To say the truth, I do not grudge it
now the fellows have begun to fight _again_--and still more welcome
shall they be if they will go on. But they have had, or are to have,
some four thousand pounds (besides some private extraordinaries for
widows, orphans, refugees, and rascals of all descriptions,) of mine
at one 'swoop;' and it is to be expected the next will be at least as
much more. And how can I refuse it if they _will_ fight?--and
especially if I should happen ever to be in their company? I
therefore request and require that you should apprise my trusty and
trust-worthy trustee and banker, and crown and sheet-anchor, Douglas
Kinnaird the Honourable, that he prepare all monies of mine,
including the purchase money of Rochdale manor and mine income for
the year ensuing, A.D. 1824, to answer, or anticipate, any orders or
drafts of mine for the good cause, in good and lawful money of Great
Britain, &c. &c. May you live a thousand years I which is nine
hundred and ninety-nine longer than the Spanish Cortes'



"Cephalonia, December 23. 1823.

"I shall be as saving of my purse and person as you recommend; but
you know that it is as well to be in readiness with one or both, in
the event of either being required.

"I presume that some agreement has been concluded with Mr. Murray
about 'Werner.' Although the copyright should only be worth two or
three hundred pounds, I will tell you what can be done with them. For
three hundred pounds I can maintain in Greece, at more than the
_fullest pay_ of the Provisional Government, rations included, one
hundred armed men for _three months_. You may judge of this when I
tell you, that the four thousand pounds advanced by me to the Greeks
is likely to set a fleet and an army in motion for some months.

"A Greek vessel has arrived from the squadron to convey me to
Missolonghi, where Mavrocordato now is, and has assumed the command,
so that I expect to embark immediately. Still address, however, to
Cephalonia, through Messrs. Welch and Barry of Genoa, as usual; and
get together all the means and credit of mine you can, to face the
war establishment, for it is 'in for a penny, in for a pound,' and I
must do all that I can for the ancients.

"I have been labouring to reconcile these parties, and there is _now_
some hope of succeeding. Their public affairs go on well. The Turks
have retreated from Acarnania without a battle, after a few fruitless
attempts on Anatoliko. Corinth is taken, and the Greeks have gained a
battle in the Archipelago. The squadron here, too, has taken a
Turkish corvette with some money and a cargo. In short, if they can
obtain a Loan, I am of opinion that matters will assume and preserve
a steady and favourable aspect for their independence.

"In the mean time I stand paymaster, and what not; and lucky it is
that, from the nature of the warfare and of the country, the
resources even of an individual can be of a partial and temporary

"Colonel Stanhope is at Missolonghi. Probably we shall attempt Patras
next. The Suliotes, who are friends of mine, seem anxious to have me
with them, and so is Mavrocordato. If I can but succeed in
reconciling the two parties (and I have left no stone unturned), it
will be something; and if not, we roust go over to the Morea with the
Western Greeks--who are the bravest, and at present the strongest,
having beaten back the Turks--and try the effect of a little
_physical_ advice, should they persist in rejecting _moral_

"Once more recommending to you the reinforcement of my strong box and
credit from all lawful sources and resources of mine to their
practicable extent--for, after all, it is better playing at nations
than gaming at Almack's or Newmarket--and requesting you to write to
me as often as you can,

"I remain ever," &c.

The squadron, so long looked for, having made its appearance at last
in the waters of Missolonghi, and Mavrocordato, the only leader of
the cause worthy the name of statesman, having been appointed, with
full powers, to organise Western Greece, the fit moment for Lord
Byron's presence on the scene of action seemed to have arrived. The
anxiety, indeed, with which he was expected at Missolonghi was
intense, and can be best judged from the impatient language of the
letters written to hasten him. "I need not tell you, my Lord," says
Mavrocordato, "how much I long for your arrival, to what a pitch your
presence is desired by every body, or what a prosperous direction it
will give to all our affairs. Your counsels will be listened to like
oracles." Colonel Stanhope, with the same urgency, writes from
Missolonghi,--"The Greek ship sent for your Lordship has returned;
your arrival was anticipated, and the disappointment has been great
indeed. The Prince is in a state of anxiety, the Admiral looks
gloomy, and the sailors grumble aloud." He adds at the end, "I walked
along the streets this evening, and the people asked me after Lord
Byron !!!" In a Letter to the London Committee of the same date,
Colonel Stanhope says, "All are looking forward to Lord Byron's
arrival, as they would to the coming of the Messiah."

Of this anxiety, no inconsiderable part is doubtless to be attributed
to their great impatience for the possession of the loan which he had
promised them, and on which they wholly depended for the payment of
the fleet--"Prince Mavrocordato and the Admiral (says the same
gentleman) are in a state of extreme perplexity: they, it seems,
relied on your loan for the payment of the fleet; that loan not
having been received, the sailors will depart immediately. This will
be a fatal event indeed, as it will place Missolonghi in a state of
blockade; and will prevent the Greek troops from acting against the
fortresses of Nepacto and Patras."

In the mean time Lord Byron was preparing busily for his departure,
the postponement of which latterly had been, in a great measure,
owing to that repugnance to any new change of place which had lately
so much grown upon him, and which neither love, as we have seen, nor
ambition, could entirely conquer. There had been also considerable
pains taken by some of his friends at Argostoli to prevent his fixing
upon a place of residence so unhealthy as Missolonghi; and Mr. Muir,
a very able medical officer, on whose talents he had much dependence,
endeavoured most earnestly to dissuade him from such an imprudent
step. His mind, however, was made up,--the proximity of that port, in
some degree, tempting him,--and having hired, for himself and suite,
a light, fast-sailing vessel, called the Mistico, with a boat for
part of his baggage, and a larger vessel for the remainder, the
horses, &c. he was, on the 26th of December, ready to sail. The wind,
however, being contrary, he was detained two days longer, and in this
interval the following letters were written.


"10bre 26. 1823.

"Little need be added to the enclosed, which arrived this day, except
that I embark to-morrow for Missolonghi. The intended operations are
detailed in the annexed documents. I have only to request that the
Committee will use every exertion to forward our views by all its
influence and credit.

"I have also to request you _personally_ from myself to urge my
friend and trustee, Douglas Kinnaird (from whom I have not heard
these four months nearly), to forward to me all the resources of my
_own_ we can muster for the ensuing year; since it is no time to
ménager _purse_, or, perhaps, _person_. I have advanced, and am
advancing, all that I have in hand, but I shall require all that can
be got together;--and (if Douglas has completed the sale of Rochdale,
_that _ and my year's income for next year ought to form a good round
sum,)--as you may perceive that there will be little cash of their
own amongst the Greeks (unless they get the Loan), it is the more
necessary that those of their friends who have any should risk it.

"The supplies of the Committee are, some, useful, and all excellent
in their kind, but occasionally hardly _practical_ enough, in the
present state of Greece; for instance, the mathematical instruments
are thrown away--none of the Greeks know a problem from a poker--we
must conquer first, and plan afterwards. The use of the trumpets,
too, may be doubted, unless Constantinople were Jericho, for the
Helenists have no ears for bugles, and you must send us somebody to
listen to them.

"We will do our best--and I pray you to stir your English hearts at
home to more _general_ exertion; for my part, I will stick by the
cause while a plank remains which can be _honourably_ clung to. If I
quit it, it will be by the Greeks' conduct, and not the Holy Allies
or holier Mussulmans--but let us hope better things.

"Ever yours, N. B.

"P.S. I am happy to say that Colonel Leicester Stanhope and myself
are acting in perfect harmony together--he is likely to be of great
service both to the cause and to the Committee, and is publicly as
well as personally a very valuable acquisition to our party on every
account. He came up (as they all do who have not been in the country
before) with some high-flown notions of the sixth form at Harrow or
Eton, &c.; but Col. Napier and I set him to rights on those points,
which is absolutely necessary to prevent disgust, or perhaps return;
but now we can set our shoulders _soberly_ to the _wheel_, without
quarrelling with the mud which may clog it occasionally.

"I can assure you that Col. Napier and myself are as decided for the
cause as any German student of them all; but like men who have seen
the country and human life, there and elsewhere, we must be permitted
to view it in its truth, with its defects as well as beauties,--more
especially as success will remove the former _gradually_. N. B.

"P.S. As much of this letter as you please is for the Committee, the
rest may be 'entre nous.'"


"Cephalonia, December 27. 1823.

"I received a letter from you some time ago. I have been too much
employed latterly to write as I could wish, and even now must write
in haste.

"I embark for Missolonghi to join Mavrocordato in four-and-twenty
hours. The state of parties (but it were a long story) has kept me
here till _now_; but now that Mavrocordato (their Washington, or
their Kosciusko) is employed again, I can act with a _safe
conscience._ I carry money to pay the squadron, &c., and I have
influence with the Suliotes, _supposed _ sufficient to keep them in
harmony with some of the dissentients;--for there are plenty of
differences, but trifling.

"It is imagined that we shall attempt either Patras or the castles on
the Straits; and it seems, by most accounts, that the Greeks, at any
rate, the Suliotes, who are in affinity with me of 'bread and
salt,'--expect that I should march with them, and--be it even so! If
any thing in the way of fever, fatigue, famine, or otherwise, should
cut short the middle age of a brother warbler,--like Garcilasso de la
Vega, Kleist, Korner, Joukoffsky[1] (a Russian nightingale--see
Bowring's Anthology), or Thersander, or,--or somebody else--but never
mind--I pray you to remember me in your 'smiles and wine.'

[Footnote 1: One of the most celebrated of the living poets of
Russia, who fought at Borodino, and has commemorated that battle in a
poem of much celebrity among his countrymen.]

"I have hopes that the cause will triumph; but whether it does or no,
still 'honour must be minded as strictly as milk diet,' I trust to
observe both,

"Ever," &c.

It is hardly necessary to direct the attention of the reader to the
sad, and but too true anticipation expressed in this letter--the last
but one I was ever to receive from my friend. Before we accompany him
to the closing scene of all his toils, I shall here, as briefly as
possible, give a selection from the many characteristic anecdotes
told of him, while at Cephalonia, where (to use the words of Colonel
Stanhope, in a letter from thence to the Greek committee,) he was
"beloved by Cephalonians, by English, and by Greeks;" and where,
approached as he was familiarly by persons of all classes and
countries, not an action, not a word is recorded of him that does not
bear honourable testimony to the benevolence and soundness of his
views, his ever ready but discriminating generosity, and the clear
insight, at once minute and comprehensive, which he had acquired into
the character and wants of the people and the cause he came to serve.
"Of all those who came to help the Greeks," says Colonel Napier, (a
person himself the most qualified to judge, as well from long local
knowledge, as from the acute, straightforward cast of his own mind,)
"I never knew one, except Lord Byron and Mr. Gordon, that seemed to
have justly estimated their character. All came expecting to find the
Peloponnesus filled with Plutarch's men, and all returned thinking
the inhabitants of Newgate more moral. Lord Byron judged them fairly:
he knew that half-civilised men are full of vices, and that great
allowance must be made for emancipated slaves. He, therefore,
proceeded, bridle in hand, not thinking them good, but hoping to make
them better."[1]

[Footnote 1: A similar tribute was paid to him by Count Delladecima,
a gentleman of some literary acquirements, of whom he saw a good deal
at Cephalonia, and to whom he was attracted by that sympathy which
never failed to incline him towards those who laboured, like himself,
under any personal defects. "Of all the men," said this gentleman,
"whom I have had an opportunity of conversing with, on the means of
establishing the independence of Greece, and regenerating the
character of the natives, Lord Byron appears to entertain the most
enlightened and correct views."]

In speaking of the foolish charge of avarice brought against Lord
Byron by some who resented thus his not suffering them to impose on
his generosity, Colonel Napier says, "I never knew a single instance
of it while he was here. I saw only a judicious generosity in all
that he did. He would not allow himself to be _robbed_, but he gave
profusely where he thought he was doing good. It was, indeed, because
he would not allow himself to be _fleeced_, that he was called stingy
by those who are always bent upon giving money from any purses but
their own. Lord Byron had no idea of this; and would turn sharply and
unexpectedly on those who thought their game sure. He gave a vast
deal of money to the Greeks in various ways."

Among the objects of his bounty in this way were many poor refugee
Greeks from the Continent and the Isles. He not only relieved their
present distresses, but allotted a certain sum monthly to the most
destitute. "A list of these poor pensioners," says Dr. Kennedy, "was
given me by the nephew of Professor Bambas."

One of the instances mentioned of his humanity while at Cephalonia
will show how prompt he was at the call of that feeling, and how
unworthy, sometimes, were the objects of it. A party of workmen
employed upon one of those fine roads projected by Colonel Napier
having imprudently excavated a high bank, the earth fell in, and
overwhelmed nearly a dozen persons; the news of which accident
instantly reaching Metaxata, Lord Byron despatched his physician
Bruno to the spot, and followed with Count Gamba, as soon as their
horses could be saddled. They found a crowd of women and children
wailing round the ruins; while the workmen, who had just dug out
three or four of their maimed companions, stood resting themselves
unconcernedly, as if nothing more was required of them; and to Lord
Byron's enquiry whether there were not still some other persons below
the earth, answered coolly that "they did not know, but believed that
there were." Enraged at this brutal indifference, he sprang from his
horse, and seizing a spade himself, began to dig with all his
strength; but it was not till after being threatened with the
horsewhip that any of the peasants could be brought to follow his
example. "I was not present at this scene myself," says Colonel
Napier, in the Notices with which he has favoured me, "but was told
that Lord Byron's attention seemed quite absorbed in the study of the
faces and gesticulations of those whose friends were missing. The
sorrow of the Greeks is, in appearance, very frantic, and they shriek
and howl, as in Ireland.

It was in alluding to the above incident that the noble poet is
stated to have said that he had come out to the Islands prejudiced
against Sir T. Maitland's government of the Greeks: "but," he added,
"I have now changed my opinion. They are such barbarians, that if I
had the government of them, I would pave these very roads with them."

While residing at Metaxata, he received an account of the illness of
his daughter Ada, which "made him anxious and melancholy (says Count
Gamba) for several days." Her indisposition he understood to have
been caused by a determination of blood to the head; and on his
remarking to Dr. Kennedy, as curious, that it was a complaint to
which he himself was subject, the physician replied, that he should
have been inclined to infer so, not only from his habits of intense
and irregular study, but from the present state of his eyes,--the
right eye appearing to be inflamed. I have mentioned this latter
circumstance as perhaps justifying the inference that there was in
Lord Byron's state of health at this moment a predisposition to the
complaint of which he afterwards died. To Dr. Kennedy he spoke
frequently of his wife and daughter, expressing the Strongest
affection for the latter, and respect towards the former, and while
declaring as usual his perfect ignorance of the causes of the
separation, professing himself fully disposed to welcome any prospect
of reconcilement.

The anxiety with which, at all periods of his life, but particularly
at the present, he sought to repel the notion that, except when under
the actual inspiration of writing, he was at all influenced by
poetical associations, very frequently displayed itself. "You must
have been highly gratified (said a gentleman to him) by the classical
remains and recollections which you met with in your visit to
Ithaca."--"You quite mistake me," answered Lord Byron--"I have no
poetical humbug about me; I am too old for that. Ideas of that sort
are confined to rhyme."

For the two days during which he was delayed by contrary winds, he
took up his abode at the house of Mr. Hancock, his banker, and passed
the greater part of the time in company with the English authorities
of the Island. At length the wind becoming fair, he prepared to
embark. "I called upon him to take leave," says Dr. Kennedy, "and
found him alone, reading Quentin Durward. He was, as usual, in good
spirits." In a few hours after the party set sail,--Lord Byron
himself on board the Mistico, and Count Gamba, with the horses and
heavy baggage, in the larger vessel, or Bombarda. After touching at
Zante, for the purpose of some pecuniary arrangements with Mr. Barff,
and taking on board a considerable sum of money in specie, they, on
the evening of the 29th, proceeded towards Missolonghi. Their last
accounts from that place having represented the Turkish fleet as
still in the Gulf of Lepanto, there appeared not the slightest
grounds for apprehending any interruption in their passage. Besides,
knowing that the Greek squadron was now at anchorage near the
entrance of the Gulf, they had little doubt of soon falling in with
some friendly vessel, either in search, or waiting for them.

"We sailed together," says Count Gamba, in a highly picturesque and
affecting passage, "till after ten at night; the wind favourable--a
clear sky, the air fresh but not sharp. Our sailors sang alternately
patriotic songs, monotonous indeed, but to persons in our situation
extremely touching, and we took part in them. We were all, but Lord
Byron particularly, in excellent spirits. The Mistico sailed the
fastest. When the waves divided us, and our voices could no longer
reach each other, we made signals by firing pistols and
carabines--'To-morrow we meet at Missolonghi--to-morrow.' Thus, full
of confidence and spirits, we sailed along. At twelve we were out of
sight of each other."

In waiting for the other vessel, having more than once shortened sail
for that purpose, the party on board the Mistico were upon the point
of being surprised into an encounter which might, in a moment, have
changed the future fortunes of Lord Byron. Two or three hours before
daybreak, while steering towards Missolonghi, they found themselves
close under the stern of a large vessel, which they at first took to
be Greek, but which, when within pistol shot, they discovered to be a
Turkish frigate. By good fortune, they were themselves, as it
appears, mistaken for a Greek brulot by the Turks, who therefore
feared to fire, but with loud shouts frequently hailed them, while
those on board Lord Byron's vessel maintained the most profound
silence; and even the dogs (as I have heard his Lordship's valet
mention), though they had never ceased to bark during the whole of
the night, did not utter, while within reach of the Turkish frigate,
a sound;--a no less lucky than a curious accident, as, from the
information the Turks had received of all the particulars of his
Lordship's departure from Zante, the harking of the dogs, at that
moment, would have been almost certain to betray him. Under the
favour of these circumstances, and the darkness, they were enabled to
bear away without further molestation, and took shelter among the
Scrofes, a cluster of rocks but a few hours' sail from Missolonghi.
From this place the following letter, remarkable, considering his
situation at the moment, for the light, careless tone that pervades
it, was despatched to Colonel Stanhope.



"Scrofer (or some such name), on board a
Cephaloniote Mistico, Dec. 31. 1823.

"My dear Stanhope,

"We are just arrived here, that is, part of my people and I, with
some things, &c., and which it may be as well not to specify in a
letter (which has a risk of being intercepted, perhaps);--but Gamba,
and my horses, negro, steward, and the press, and all the Committee
things, also some eight thousand dollars of mine, (but never mind, we
have more left, do you understand?) are taken by the Turkish
frigates, and my party and myself, in another boat, have had a narrow
escape last night, (being close under their stern and hailed, but we
would not answer, and bore away,) as well as this morning. Here we
are, with the sun and clearing weather, within a pretty little port
enough; but whether our Turkish friends may not send in their boats
and take us out (for we have no arms except two carbines and some
pistols, and, I suspect, not more than four fighting people on
board,) is another question, especially if we remain long here, since
we are blocked out of Missolonghi by the direct entrance.

"You had better send my friend George Drake (Draco), and a body of
Suliotes, to escort us by land or by the canals, with all convenient
speed. Gamba and our Bombard are taken into Patras, I suppose; and we
must take a turn at the Turks to get them out: but where the devil is
the fleet gone?--the Greek, I mean; leaving us to get in without the
least intimation to take heed that the Moslems were out again.

"Make my respects to Mavrocordato, and say that I am here at his
disposal. I am uneasy at being here: not so much on my own account as
on that of a Greek boy with me, for you know what his fate would be;
and I would sooner cut him in pieces, and myself too, than have him
taken out by those barbarians. We are all very well. N. B.

"The Bombard was twelve miles out when taken; at least, so it
appeared to us (if taken she actually be, for it is not certain); and
we had to escape from another vessel that stood right between us and
the port."

Finding that his position among the rocks of the Scrofes would be
untenable in the event of an attack by armed boats, he thought it
right to venture out again, and making all sail, got safe to
Dragomestri, a small sea-port town on the coast of Acarnania; from
whence the annexed letters to two of the most valued of his
Cephalonian friends were written.


"Dragomestri, January 2. 1824.

"My dear Muir,

"I wish you many returns of the season, and happiness therewithal.
Gamba and the Bombard (there is a strong reason to believe) are
carried into Patras by a Turkish frigate, which we saw chase them at
dawn on the 31st: we had been close under the stern in the night,
believing her a Greek till within pistol shot, and only escaped by a
miracle of all the Saints (our captain says), and truly I am of his
opinion, for we should never have got away of ourselves. They were
signalising their consort with lights, and had illuminated the ship
between decks, and were shouting like a mob;--but then why did they
not fire? Perhaps they took us for a Greek brulot, and were afraid of
kindling us--they had no colours flying even at dawn nor after.

"At daybreak my boat was on the coast, but the wind unfavourable for
_the port_;--a large vessel with the wind in her favour standing
between us and the Gulf, and another in chase of the Bombard about
twelve miles off, or so. Soon after they stood (_i.e._ the Bombard
and frigate) apparently towards Patras, and a Zantiote boat making
signals to us from the shore to get away. Away we went before the
wind, and ran into a creek called Scrofes, I believe, where I landed
Luke[1] and another (as Luke's life was in most danger), with some
money for themselves, and a letter for Stanhope, and sent them up the
country to Missolonghi, where they would be in safety, as the place
where we were could be assailed by armed boats in a moment, and Gamba
had all our arms except two carbines, a fowling-piece, and some

[Footnote 1: A Greek youth whom he had brought with him, in his
suite, from Cephalonia.]

"In less than an hour the vessel in chase neared us, and we dashed
out again, and showing our stern (our boat sails very well), got in
before night to Dragomestri, where we now are. But where is the Greek
fleet? I don't know--do you? I told our master of the boat that I was
inclined to think the two large vessels (there were none else in
sight) Greeks. But he answered, 'They are too large--why don't they
show their colours?' and his account was confirmed, be it true or
false, by several boats which we met or passed, as we could not at
any rate have got in with that wind without beating about for a long
time; and as there was much property, and some lives to risk (the
boy's especially) without any means of defence, it was necessary to
let our boatmen have their own way.

"I despatched yesterday another messenger to Missolonghi for an
escort, but we have yet no answer. We are here (those of my boat) for
the fifth day without taking our clothes off, and sleeping on deck in
all weathers, but are all very well, and in good spirits. It is to be
supposed that the Government will send, for their own sakes, an
escort, as I have 16,000 dollars on board, the greater part for their
service. I had (besides personal property to the amount of about 5000
more) 8000 dollars in specie of my own, without reckoning the
Committee's stores, so that the Turks will have a good thing of it,
if the prize be good.

"I regret the detention of Gamba, &c., but the rest we can make up
again; so tell Hancock to set my bills into cash as soon as possible,
and Corgialegno to prepare the remainder of my credit with Messrs.
Webb to be turned into monies. I shall remain here, unless something
extraordinary occurs, till Mavrocordato sends, and then go on, and
act according to circumstances. My respects to the two colonels, and
remembrances to all friends. Tell '_Ultima Anahse_'[1] that his
friend Raidi did not make his appearance with the brig, though I
think that he might as well have spoken with us _in_ or _off_ Zante,
to give us a gentle hint of what we had to expect.

[Footnote 1: Count Delladecima, to whom he gives this name in
consequence of a habit which that gentleman had of using the phrase
"in ultima analise" frequently in conversation.]

"Yours, ever affectionately, N. B.

"P.S. Excuse my scrawl on account of the pen and the frosty morning
at daybreak. I write in haste, a boat starting for Kalamo. I do not
know whether the detention of the Bombard (if she be detained, for I
cannot swear to it, and I can only judge from appearances, and what
all these fellows say,) be an affair of the Government, and
neutrality, and &c.--but _she was stopped at least_ twelve miles
distant from any port, and had all her papers regular from _Zante _
for _Kalamo_ and _we also_. I did not land at Zante, being anxious to
lose as little time as possible, but Sir F. S. came off to invite me,
&c. and every body was as kind as could be, even in Cephalonia."


"Dragomestri, January 2. 1824.

"Dear Sir 'Ancock[1],'

[Footnote 1: This letter is, more properly, a postscript to one which
Dr. Bruno had, by his orders, written to Mr. Hancock, with some
particulars of their voyage; and the Doctor having begun his letter,
"Pregiat'mo. Sig'r. Ancock," Lord Byron thus parodies his mode of

"Remember me to Dr. Muir and every body else. I have still the 16,000
dollars with me, the rest were on board the Bombarda. Here we
are--the Bombarda taken, or at least missing, with all the Committee
stores, my friend Gamba, the horses, negro, bull-dog, steward, and
domestics, with all our implements of peace and war, also 8000
dollars; but whether she will be lawful prize or no, is for the
decision of the Governor of the Seven Islands. I have written to Dr.
Muir, by way of Kalamo, with all particulars. We are in good
condition; and what with wind and weather, and being hunted or so,
little sleeping on deck, &c. are in tolerable seasoning for the
country and circumstances. But I foresee that we shall have occasion
for all the cash I can muster at Zante and elsewhere. Mr. Barff gave
us 8000 and odd dollars; so there is still a balance in my favour. We
are not quite certain that the vessels were Turkish which chased; but
there is strong presumption that they were, and no news to the
contrary. At Zante, every body, from the Resident downwards, were as
kind as could be, especially your worthy and courteous partner.

"Tell our friends to keep up their spirits, and we may yet do well. I
disembarked the boy and another Greek, who were in most terrible
alarm--the boy, at least, from the Morea--on shore near Anatoliko, I
believe, which put them in safety; and, as for me and mine, we must
stick by our goods.

"I hope that Gamba's detention will only be temporary. As for the
effects and monies, if we have them,--well; if otherwise, patience. I
wish you a happy new year, and all our friends the same.

"Yours," &c.

During these adventures of Lord Byron, Count Gamba, having been
brought to by the Turkish frigate, had been carried, with his
valuable charge, into Patras, where the Commander of the Turkish
fleet was stationed. Here, after an interview with the Pacha, by whom
he was treated, during his detention, most courteously, he had the
good fortune to procure the release of his vessel and freight; and,
on the 4th of January, reached Missolonghi. To his surprise, however,
he found that Lord Byron had not yet arrived; for,--as if everything
connected with this short voyage were doomed to deepen whatever ill
bodings there were already in his mind,--on his Lordship's departure
from Dragomestri, a violent gale of wind had come on; his vessel was
twice driven on the rocks in the passage of the Scrofes, and, from
the force of the wind, and the captain's ignorance of those shoals,
the danger was by all on board considered to be most serious. "On the
second time of striking," says Count Gamba, "the sailors, losing all
hope of saving the vessel, began to think of their own safety. But
Lord Byron persuaded them to remain; and by his firmness, and no
small share of nautical skill, got them out of danger, and thus saved
the vessel and several lives, with 25,000 dollars, the greater part
in specie."

The wind still blowing right against their course to Missolonghi,
they again anchored between two of the numerous islets by which this
part of the coast is lined; and here Lord Byron, as well for
refreshment as ablution, found himself tempted into an indulgence
which, it is not improbable, may have had some share in producing the
fatal illness that followed. Having put off in a boat to a small rock
at some distance, he sent back a messenger for the nankeen trowsers
which he usually wore in bathing; and, though the sea was rough and
the night cold, it being then the 3d of January, swam back to the
vessel. "I am fully persuaded," says his valet, in relating this
imprudent freak, "that it injured my Lord's health. He certainly was
not taken ill at the time, but in the course of two or three days his
Lordship complained of a pain in all his bones, which continued, more
or less, to the time of his death."

Setting sail again next morning with the hope of reaching Missolonghi
before sunset, they were still baffled by adverse winds, and,
arriving late at night in the port, did not land till the morning of
the 5th.

The solicitude, in the mean time, of all at Missolonghi, knowing that
the Turkish fleet was out, and Lord Byron on his way, may without
difficulty be conceived, and is most livelily depicted in a letter
written during the suspense of that moment, by an eye-witness. "The
Turkish fleet," says Colonel Stanhope, "has ventured out, and is, at
this moment, blockading the port. Beyond these again are seen the
Greek ships, and among the rest the one that was sent for Lord Byron.
Whether he is on board or not is a question. You will allow that this
is an eventful day." Towards the end of the letter, he adds, "Lord
Byron's servants have just arrived; he himself will be here
to-morrow. If he had not come, we had need have prayed for fair
weather; for both fleet and army are hungry and inactive. Parry has
not appeared. Should he also arrive to-morrow, all Missolonghi will
go mad with pleasure."

The reception their noble visiter experienced on his arrival was such
as, from the ardent eagerness with which he had been looked for,
might be expected. The whole population of the place crowded to the
shore to welcome him: the ships anchored off the fortress fired a
salute as he passed; and all the troops and dignitaries of the place,
civil and military, with the Prince Mavrocordato at their head, met
him on his landing, and accompanied him, amidst the mingled din of
shouts, wild music, and discharges of artillery, to the house that
had been prepared for him. "I cannot easily describe," says Count
Gamba, "the emotions which such a scene excited. I could scarcely
refrain from tears."

After eight days of fatigue such as Lord Byron had endured, some
short interval of rest might fairly have been desired by him. But the
scene on which he had now entered was one that precluded all thoughts
of repose. He on whom the eyes and hopes of all others were centred,
could but little dream of indulging any care for himself. There were,
at this particular moment, too, collected within the precincts of
that town as great an abundance of the materials of unquiet and
misrule as had been ever brought together in so small a space. In
every quarter; both public and private, disorganisation and
dissatisfaction presented themselves. Of the fourteen brigs of war
which had come to the succour of Missolonghi, and which had for some
time actually protected it against a Turkish fleet double its number,
nine had already, hopeless of pay, returned to Hydra, while the
sailors of the remaining five, from the same cause of complaint, had
just quitted their ships, and were murmuring idly on shore. The
inhabitants, seeing themselves thus deserted or preyed upon by their
defenders, with a scarcity of provisions threatening them, and the
Turkish fleet before their eyes, were no less ready to break forth
into riot and revolt; while, at the same moment, to complete the
confusion, a General Assembly was on the point of being held in the
town, for the purpose of organising the forces of Western Greece, and
to this meeting all the wild mountain chiefs of the province, ripe,
of course, for dissension, were now flocking with their followers.
Mavrocordato himself, the President of the intended Congress, had
brought in his train no less than 5000 armed men, who were at this
moment in the town. Ill provided, too, with either pay or food by the
Government, this large military mob were but little less discontented
and destitute than the sailors; and in short, in every direction, the
entire population seems to have presented such a fermenting mass of
insubordination and discord as was far more likely to produce warfare
among themselves than with the enemy.

Such was the state of affairs when Lord Byron arrived at
Missolonghi;--such the evils he had now to encounter, with the
formidable consciousness that to him, and him alone, all looked for
the removal of them.

Of his proceedings during the first weeks after his arrival, the
following letters to Mr. Hancock (which by the great kindness of that
gentleman I am enabled to give) will, assisted by a few explanatory
notes, supply a sufficiently ample account.


"Missolonghi, January 13. 1824.

"Dear Sir,

"Many thanks for yours of the fifth; ditto to Muir for his. You will
have heard that Gamba and my vessel got out of the hands of the Turks
safe and intact; nobody knows well how or why, for there's a mystery
in the story somewhat melodramatic. Captain Valsamachi has, I take
it, spun a long yarn by this time in Argostoli. I attribute their
release entirely to Saint Dionisio, of Zante, and the Madonna of the
Rock, near Cephalonia.

"The adventures of my separate luck were also not finished at
Dragomestri; we were conveyed out by some Greek gun-boats, and found
the Leonidas brig-of-war at sea to look after us. But blowing weather
coming on, we were driven on the rocks _twice_ in the passage of the
Scrofes, and the dollars had another narrow escape. Two thirds of the
crew got ashore over the bowsprit: the rocks were rugged enough, but
water very deep close in shore, so that she was, after much swearing
and some exertion, got off again, and away we went with a third of
our crew, leaving the rest on a desolate island, where they might
have been now, had not one of the gun-boats taken them off, for we
were in no condition to take them off again.

"Tell Muir that Dr. Bruno did not show much fight on the occasion;
for besides stripping to his flannel waistcoat, and running about
like a rat in an emergency, when I was talking to a Greek boy (the
brother of the Greek girls in Argostoli), and telling him of the fact
that there was no danger for the passengers, whatever there might be
for the vessel, and assuring him that I could save both him and
myself without difficulty[1] (though he can't swim), as the water,
though deep, was not very rough,--the wind _not_ blowing _right_ on
shore (it was a blunder of the Greeks who missed stays),--the Doctor
exclaimed, 'Save _him_, indeed! by G--d! save _me_ rather--I'll be
first if I can'--a piece of egotism which he pronounced with such
emphatic simplicity as to set all who had leisure to hear him
laughing[2], and in a minute after the vessel drove off again after
striking twice. She sprung a small leak, but nothing further
happened, except that the captain was very nervous afterwards.

[Footnote 1: He meant to have taken the boy on his shoulders and swum
with him to shore. This feat would have been but a repetition of one
of his early sports at Harrow; where it was a frequent practice of
his thus to mount one of the smaller boys on his shoulders, and, much
to the alarm of the urchin, dive with him into the water.]

[Footnote 2: In the Doctor's own account this scene is described, as
might be expected, somewhat differently:--"Ma nel di lui passaggio
marittimo una fregata Turca insegui la di lui nave, obligandola di
ricoverarsi dentro le _Scrofes_, dove per l'impeto dei venti fù
gettata sopra i scogli: tutti i marinari dell' equipaggio saltarono a
terra per salvare la loro vita: Milord solo col di lui Medico Dottr.
Bruno rimasero sulla nave che ognuno vedeva colare a fondo: ma dopo
qualche tempo non essendosi visto che ciò avveniva, le persone
fuggite a terra respinsero la nave nell' acque: ma il tempestoso mare
la ribastò una seconda volta contro i scogli, ed allora si aveva per
certo che la nave coll' illustre personaggio, una grande quantità di
denari, e molti preziosi effetti per i Greci anderebbero a fondo.
Tuttavia Lord Byron non si perturbò per nulla; anzi disse al di lui
medico che voleva gettarsi al nuoto onde raggiungere la spiaggia:
'Non abbandonate la nave finchè abbiamo forze per direggerla:
allorchè saremo coperti dall' acque, allora gettatevi pure, che io vi

"To be brief, we had bad weather almost always, though not contrary;
slept on deck in the wet generally for seven or eight nights, but
never was in better health (I speak personally)--so much so that I
actually bathed for a quarter of an hour on the evening of the 4th
instant in the sea, (to kill the fleas, and other &c.) and was all
the better for it.

"We were received at Missolonghi with all kinds of kindness and
honours; and the sight of the fleet saluting, &c. and the crowds and
different costumes, was really picturesque. We think of undertaking
an expedition soon, and I expect to be ordered with the Suliotes to
join the army.

"All well at present. We found Gamba already arrived, and every thing
in good condition. Remember me to all friends.

"Yours ever, N. B.

"P.S. You will, I hope, use every exertion to realise the _assets_.
For besides what I have already advanced, I have undertaken to
maintain the Suliotes for a year, (and will accompany them either as
a Chief, or whichever is most agreeable to the Government,) besides
sundries. I do not understand Brown's '_letters of credit_.' I
neither gave nor ordered a letter of credit that I know of; and
though of course, if you have done it, I will be responsible, I was
not aware of any thing, except that I would have backed his bills,
which you said was unnecessary. As to _orders_--I ordered nothing but
some _red cloth_ and _oil cloths_, both of which I am ready to
receive; but if Gamba has exceeded my commission, _the other things
must be sent back, for I cannot permit any thing of the kind, nor
will_. The servants' journey will of course be paid for, though
_that_ is exorbitant. As for Brown's letter, I do not know any thing
more than I have said, and I really cannot defray the charges of half
Greece and the Frank adventurers besides. Mr. Barff must send us some
dollars soon, for the expenses fall on me for the present.

"January 14. 1824.

"P.S. Will you tell Saint (Jew) Geronimo Corgialegno that I mean to
draw for the balance of my credit with Messrs. Webb and Co. I shall
draw for two thousand dollars (that being about the amount, more or
less); but, to facilitate the business, I shall make the draft
payable also at Messrs. Ransom and Co., Pall-Mall East, London. I
believe I already showed you my letters, (but if not, I have them to
show,) by which, besides the credits now realising, you will have
perceived that I am not limited to any particular amount of credit
with my bankers. The Honourable Douglas, my friend and trustee, is a
principal partner in that house, and having the direction of my
affairs, is aware to what extent my present resources may go, and the
letters in question were from him. I can merely say, that within the
_current_ year, 1824, besides the money already advanced to the Greek
Government, and the credits now in your hands and your partner's (Mr.
Barff), which are all from the income of 1823, I have anticipated
nothing from that of the present year hitherto. I shall or ought to
have at my disposition upwards of one hundred thousand dollars,
(including my income, and the purchase-monies of a manor lately
sold,) and perhaps more, without infringing on my income for 1825,
and not including the remaining balance of 1823.

Yours ever, N. B."


"Missolonghi, January 17, 1824.

"I have answered, at some length, your obliging letter, and trust
that you have received my reply by means of Mr. Tindal. I will also
thank you to remind Mr. Tindal that I would thank him to furnish you,
on my account, with _an order of the Committee_ for one hundred
dollars, which I advanced to him on their account through Signor
Corgialegno's agency at Zante on his arrival in October, as it is but
fair that the said Committee should pay their own expenses. An order
will be sufficient, as the money might be inconvenient for Mr. T. at
present to disburse.

"I have also advanced to Mr. Blackett the sum of fifty dollars,-which
I will thank Mr. Stevens to pay to you, on my account, from monies of
Mr. Blackett now in his hands. I have Mr. B.'s acknowledgment in

"As the wants of the State here are still pressing, and there seems
very little specie stirring except mine, I will stand paymaster; and
must again request you and Mr. Barff to forward by a _safe _ channel
(if possible) all the dollars you can collect upon the bills now
negotiating. I have also written to Corgialegno for two thousand
dollars, being about the balance of my separate letter from Messrs.
Webb and Co., making the bills also payable at Ransom's in London.

"Things are going on better, if not well; there is some order, and
considerable preparation. I expect to accompany the troops on an
expedition shortly, which makes me particularly anxious for the
remaining remittance, as 'money is the sinew of war,' and of peace,
too, as far as I can see, for I am sure there would be no peace here
without it. However, a little does go a good way, which is a comfort.
The Government of the Morea and of Candia have written to me for a
further advance from my own peculium of 20 or 30,000 dollars, to
which I demur for the present, (having undertaken to pay the Suliotes
as a free gift and other things already, besides the loan which I
have already advanced,) till I receive letters from England, which I
have reason to expect.

"When the expected credits arrive, I hope that you will bear a hand,
otherwise I must have recourse to Malta, which will be losing time
and taking trouble; but I do not wish you to do more than is
perfectly agreeable to Mr. Barffand to yourself. I am very well, and
have no reason to be dissatisfied with my personal treatment, or with
the posture of public affairs--others must speak for themselves.
Yours ever and truly, &c.

"P.S. Respects to Colonels Wright and Duffie, and the officers civil
and military; also to my friends Muir and Stevens particularly, and
to Delladecima."


"Missolonghi, January 19. 1824.

"Since I wrote on the 17th, I have received a letter from Mr.
Stevens, enclosing an account from Corfu, which is so exaggerated in
price and quantity, that I am at a loss whether most to admire
Gamba's folly, or the merchant's knavery. All that _I_ requested
Gamba to order was red cloth enough to make a _jacket_, and some
oil-skin for trowsers, &c.--the latter has not been sent--the whole
could not have amounted to fifty dollars. The account is six hundred
and forty-five!!! I will guarantee Mr. Stevens against any loss, of
course, but I am not disposed to take the articles (which I never
ordered), nor to pay the amount. I will take one hundred dollars'
worth; the rest may be sent back, and I will make the merchant an
allowance of so much per-cent.; or, if that is not to be done, you
must sell the whole by auction at what price the things may fetch;
for I would rather incur the dead loss of _part_, than be encumbered
with a quantity of things, to me at present superfluous or useless.
Why, I could have maintained three hundred men for a month for the
sum in Western Greece.

"When the dogs, and the dollars, and the negro; and the horses, fell
into the hands of the Turks, I acquiesced with patience, as you may
have perceived, because it was the work of the elements of war, or of
Providence: but this is a piece of mere human knavery or folly, or
both, and I neither can nor will submit to it.[1] I have occasion for
every dollar I can muster to keep the Greeks together, and I do not
grudge any expense for the cause; but to throw away as much as would
equip, or at least maintain, a corps of excellent ragamuffins with
arms in their hands, to furnish Gamba and the Doctor with blank bills
(see list), broad cloth, Hessian boots, and horsewhips (the _latter_
I own that they have richly earned), is rather beyond my endurance,
though a pacific person, as all the world knows, or at least my
acquaintances. I pray you to try to help me out of this damnable
commercial speculation of Gamba's, for it is one of those pieces of
impudence or folly which I don't forgive him in a hurry. I will of
course see Stevens free of expense out of the transaction;--by the
way, the Greek of a Corfiote has thought proper to draw a bill, and
get it discounted at 24 dollars: if I had been there, it should have
been _protested_ also.

[Footnote 1: We have here as striking an instance as could be adduced
of that peculiar feature of his character which shallow or malicious
observers have misrepresented as avarice, but which in reality was
the result of a strong sense of justice and fairness, and an
indignant impatience of being stultified or over-reached. Colonel
Stanhope, in referring to the circumstance mentioned above, has put
Lord Byron's angry feeling respecting it in the true light.

"He was constantly attacking Count Gamba, sometimes, indeed,
playfully, but more often with the bitterest satire, for having
purchased for the use of his family, while in Greece, _500_ dollars'
worth of cloth. This he used to mention as an instance of the Count's
imprudence and extravagance. Lord Byron told me one day, with a tone
of great gravity, that this 500 dollars would have been most
serviceable in promoting the siege of Lepanto; and that he never
would, to the last moment of his existence, forgive Gamba, for having
squandered away his money in the purchase of cloth. No one will
suppose that Lord Byron could be serious in such a denunciation: he
entertained, in reality, the highest opinion of Conant Gamba, who,
both on account of his talents and devotedness to his friend, merited
his Lordship's esteem. As to Lord Byron's generosity, it is before
the world; he promised to devote his large income to the cause of
Greece, and he honestly acted up to his pledge."]

"Mr. Blackett is here ill, and will soon set out for Cephalonia. He
came to me for some pills, and I gave him some reserved for
particular friends, and which I never knew any body recover from
under several months; but he is no better, and, what is odd, no
worse; and as the doctors have had no better success with him than I,
he goes to Argostoli, sick of the Greeks and of a constipation.

"I must reiterate my request for _specie_, and that speedily,
otherwise public affairs will be at a standstill here. I have
undertaken to pay the Suliotes for a year, to advance in March 3000
dollars, besides, to the Government for a balance due to the troops,
and some other smaller matters for the Germans, and the press, &c.
&c. &c.; so what with these, and the expenses of my suite, which,
though not extravagant, is expensive, with Gamba's d--d nonsense, I
shall have occasion for all the monies I can muster; and I have
credits wherewithal to face the undertakings, if realised, and expect
to have more soon.

"Believe me ever and truly yours," &c.

On the morning of the 22d of January, his birthday,--the last my poor
friend was ever fated to see,--he came from his bedroom into the
apartment where Colonel Stanhope and some others were assembled, and
said with a smile, "You were complaining the other day that I never
write any poetry now. This is my birthday, and I have just finished
something which, I think, is better than what I usually write." He
then produced to them those beautiful stanzas, which, though already
known to most readers, are far too affectingly associated with this
closing scene of his life to be omitted among its details. Taking
into consideration, indeed, every thing connected with these
verses,--the last tender aspirations of a loving spirit which they
breathe, the self-devotion to a noble cause which they so nobly
express, and that consciousness of a near grave glimmering sadly
through the whole,--there is perhaps no production within the range
of mere human composition round which the circumstances and feelings
under which it was written cast so touching an interest.



  "'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
    Since others it hath ceased to move;
  Yet though I cannot be beloved,
      Still let me love!

  "My days are in the yellow leaf;
    The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
  The worm, the canker, and the grief
      Are mine alone!

  "The fire that on my bosom preys
    Is lone as some volcanic isle;
  No torch is kindled at its blaze--
      A funeral pile!

  "The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
    The exalted portion of the pain
  And power of love, I cannot share,
      But wear the chain.

  "But 'tis not _thus_--and 'tis not _here_--
    Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor _now_,
  Where glory decks the hero's bier,
      Or binds his brow.

  "The sword, the banner, and the field,
    Glory and Greece, around roe see!
  The Spartan, borne upon his shield,
      Was not more free.

  "Awake! (not Greece--she _is_ awake!)
    Awake, my spirit! Think through _whom_
  Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
      And then strike home!

  "Tread those reviving passions down,
    Unworthy manhood!--unto thee
  Indifferent should the smile or frown
      Of beauty be.

  "If thou regret'st thy youth, _why live_?
    The land of honourable death
  Is here:--up to the field, and give
      Away thy breath!

  "Seek out--less often sought than found--
    A soldier's grave, for thee the best;
  Then look around, and choose thy ground,--
      And take thy rest."

"We perceived," says Count Gamba, "from these lines, as well as from
his daily conversations, that his ambition and his hope were
irrevocably fixed upon the glorious objects of his expedition to
Greece, and that he had made up his mind to 'return victorious, or
return no more.' Indeed, he often said to me, 'Others may do as they
please--they may go--but I stay here, _that is certain_.' The same
determination was expressed in his letters to his friends; and this
resolution was not unaccompanied with the very natural
presentiment--that he should never leave Greece alive. He one day
asked his faithful servant, Tita, whether he thought of returning to
Italy? 'Yes,' said Tita: 'if your Lordship goes, I go.' Lord Byron
smiled, and said, 'No, Tita, I shall never go back from
Greece--either the Turks, or the Greeks, or the climate, will prevent


"Missolonghi, February 5. 1824.

"Dr. Muir's letter and yours of the 23d reached me some days ago.
Tell Muir that I am glad of his promotion for his sake, and of his
remaining near us for all our sakes; though I cannot but regret Dr.
Kennedy's departure, which accounts for the previous earthquakes and
the present English weather in this climate. With all respect to my
medical pastor, I have to announce to him, that amongst other
fire-brands, our firemaster Parry (just landed) has disembarked an
elect blacksmith, intrusted with three hundred and twenty-two Greek
Testaments. I have given him all facilities in my power for his works
spiritual and temporal; and if he can settle matters as easily with
the Greek Archbishop and hierarchy, I trust that neither the heretic
nor the supposed sceptic will be accused of intolerance.

"By the way, I met with the said Archbishop at Anatolico (where I
went by invitation of the Primates a few days ago, and was received
with a heavier cannonade than the Turks, probably,) for the second
time (I had known him here before); and he and P. Mavrocordato, and
the Chiefs and Primates and I, all dined together, and I thought the
metropolitan the merriest of the party, and a very good Christian for
all that. But Gamba (we got wet through on our way back) has been ill
with a fever and cholic; and Luke has been out of sorts too, and so
have some others of the people, and I have been very well,--except
that I caught cold yesterday, with swearing too much in the rain at
the Greeks, who would not bear a hand in landing the Committee
stores, and nearly spoiled our combustibles; but I turned out in
person, and made such a row as set them in motion, blaspheming at
them from the Government downwards, till they actually did _some_
part of what they ought to have done several days before, and this is
esteemed, as it deserves to be, a wonder.

"Tell Muir that, notwithstanding his remonstrances, which I receive
thankfully, it is perhaps best that I should advance with the troops;
for if we do not do something soon, we shall only have a third year
of defensive operations and another siege, and all that. We hear that
the Turks are coming down in force, and sooner than usual; and as
these fellows do mind me a little, it is the opinion that I should
go,--firstly, because they will sooner listen to a foreigner than one
of their own people, out of native jealousies; secondly, because the
Turks will sooner treat or capitulate (if such occasion should
happen) with a Frank than a Greek; and, thirdly, because nobody else
seems disposed to take the responsibility--Mavrocordato being very
busy here, the foreign military men too young or not of authority
enough to be obeyed by the natives, and the Chiefs (as aforesaid)
inclined to obey any one except, or rather than, one of their own
body. As for me, I am willing to do what I am bidden, and to follow
my instructions. I neither seek nor shun that nor any thing else they
may wish me to attempt: as for personal safety, besides that it ought
not to be a consideration, I take it that a man is on the whole as
safe in one place as another; and, after all, he had better end with
a bullet than bark in his body. If we are not taken off with the
sword, we are like to march off with an ague in this mud basket; and
to conclude with a very bad pun, to the ear rather than to the eye,
better _martially_ than _marsh-ally:_--the situation of Missolonghi
is not unknown to you. The dykes of Holland when broken down are the
Deserts of Arabia for dryness, in comparison.

"And now for the sinews of war. I thank you and Mr. Barff for your
ready answers, which, next to ready money, is a pleasant thing.
Besides the assets and balance, and the relics of the Corgialegno
correspondence with Leghorn and Genoa, (I sold the dog flour, tell
him, but not at _his_ price,) I shall request and require, from the
beginning of March ensuing, about five thousand dollars every two
months, _i.e._, about twenty-five thousand within the current year,
at regular intervals, independent of the sums now negotiating. I can
show you documents to prove that these are considerably _within_ my
supplies for the year in more ways than one; but I do not like to
tell the Greeks exactly what I _could_ or would advance on an
emergency, because otherwise, they will double and triple their
demands, (a disposition that they have already sufficiently shown):
and though I am willing to do all I can _when_ necessary, yet I do
not see why they should not help a little; for they are not quite so
bare as they pretend to be by some accounts.

"February 7. 1824.

"I have been interrupted by the arrival of Parry and afterwards by
the return of Hesketh, who has not brought an answer to my epistles,
which rather surprises me. You will write soon, I suppose. Parry
seems a fine rough subject, but will hardly be ready for the field
these three weeks; he and I will (I think) be able to draw
together,--at least, _I_ will not interfere with or contradict him in
his own department. He complains grievously of the mercantile and
_enthusymusy_ part of the Committee, but greatly praises Gordon and
Hume. Gordon _would_ have given three or four thousand pounds and
come out _himself_, but Kennedy or somebody else disgusted him, and
thus they have spoiled part of their subscription and cramped their
operations. Parry says B---- is a humbug, to which I say nothing. He
sorely laments the printing and civilising expenses, and wishes that
there was not a Sunday-school in the world, or _any_ school _here_ at
present, save and except always an academy for artilleryship.

"He complained also of the cold, a little to my surprise; firstly,
because, there being no chimneys, I have used myself to do without
other warmth than the animal heat and one's cloak, in these parts;
and, secondly, because I should as soon have expected to hear a
volcano sneeze, as a firemaster (who is to burn a whole fleet)
exclaim against the atmosphere. I fully expected that his very
approach would have scorched up the town like the burning-glasses of

"Well, it seems that I am to be Commander-in-Chief, and the post is
by no means a sinecure, for we are not what Major Sturgeon calls 'a
set of the most amicable officers.' Whether we shall have 'a boxing
bout between Captain Sheers and the Colonel,' I cannot tell; but,
between Suliote chiefs, German barons, English volunteers, and
adventurers of all nations, we are likely to form as goodly an allied
army as ever quarrelled beneath the same banner.

"February 8. 1824.

"Interrupted again by business yesterday, and it is time to conclude
my letter. I drew some time since on Mr. Barff for a thousand
dollars, to complete some money wanted by the Government. The said
Government got cash on that bill _here_, and at a profit; but the
very same fellow who gave it to them, after proposing to give me
money for other bills on Barff to the amount of thirteen hundred
dollars, either could not, or thought better of it. I had written to
Barff advising him, but had afterwards to write to tell him of the
fellow's having not come up to time. You must really send me the
balance soon. I have the artillerists and my Suliotes to pay, and
Heaven knows what besides; and as every thing depends upon
punctuality, all our operations will be at a standstill unless you
use despatch. I shall send to Mr. Barff or to you further bills on
England for three thousand pounds, to be negotiated as speedily as
you can. I have already stated here and formerly the sums I can
command at home within the year,--without including my credits, or
the bills already negotiated or negotiating, as Corgialegno's balance
of Mr. Webb's letter,--and my letters from my friends (received by
Mr. Parry's vessel) confirm what I have already stated. How much I
may require in the course of the year I can't tell, but I will take
care that it shall not exceed the means to supply it. Yours ever,

"P.S. I have had, by desire of a Mr. _Jerostati_, to draw on
Demetrius Delladecima (is it our friend in ultima analise?) to pay
the Committee expenses. I really do not understand what the Committee
mean by some of their freedoms. Parry and I get on very well
_hitherto_: how long this may last, Heaven knows, but I hope it will,
for a good deal for the Greek service depends upon it; but he has
already had some" _miffs_ with Col. S. and I do all I can to keep the
peace amongst them. However, Parry is a fine fellow, extremely
active, and of strong, sound, practical talents, by all accounts.
Enclosed are bills for three thousand pounds, drawn in the mode
directed (_i.e._ parcelled out in smaller bills). A good opportunity
occurring for Cephalonia to send letters on, I avail myself of it.
Remember me to Stevens and to all friends. Also my compliments and
every thing kind to the colonels and officers.

"February 9. 1824.

"P.S. 2d or 3d. I have reason to expect a person from England
directed with papers (on business) for me to sign, somewhere in the
Islands, by and by: if such should arrive, would you forward him to
me by a safe conveyance, as the papers regard a transaction with
regard to the adjustment of a lawsuit, and a sum of several thousand
pounds, which I, or my bankers and trustees for me, may have to
receive (in England) in consequence. The time of the probable arrival
I cannot state, but the date of my letters is the 2d Nov. and I
suppose that he ought to arrive soon."

How strong were the hopes which even those who watched him most
observingly conceived from the whole tenor of his conduct since his
arrival at Missolonghi, will appear from the following words of
Colonel Stanhope, in one of his letters to the Greek Committee:--

"Lord Byron possesses all the means of playing a great part in the
glorious revolution of Greece. He has talent; he professes liberal
principles; he has money, and is inspired with fervent and chivalrous
feelings. He has commenced his career by two good measures: 1st, by
recommending union, and declaring himself of no party; and, 2dly, by
taking five hundred Suliotes into pay, and acting as their chief.
These acts cannot fail to render his Lordship universally popular,
and proportionally powerful. Thus advantageously circumstanced, his
Lordship will have an opportunity of realising all his professions."

That the inspirer, however, of these hopes was himself far from
participating in them is a fact manifest from all he said and wrote
on the subject, and but adds painfully to the interest which his
position at this moment excites. Too well, indeed, did he both
understand and feel the difficulties into which he was plunged to
deceive himself into any such sanguine delusions. In one only of the
objects to which he had looked forward with any hope,--that of
endeavouring to humanise, by his example, the system of warfare on
both sides,--had he yet been able to gratify himself. Not many days
after his arrival an opportunity, as we have seen, had been afforded
him of rescuing an unfortunate Turk out of the hands of some Greek
sailors; and, towards the end of the month, having learned that there
were a few Turkish prisoners in confinement at Missolonghi, he
requested of the Government to place them at his disposal, that he
might send them to Yussuff Pacha. In performing this act of humane
policy, he transmitted with the rescued captives the following



"Missolonghi, January 23. 1824.


"A vessel, in which a friend and some domestics of mine were
embarked, was detained a few days ago, and released by order of your
Highness. I have now to thank you; not for liberating the vessel,
which, as carrying a neutral flag, and being under British
protection, no one had a right to detain; but for having treated my
friends with so much kindness while they were in your hands.

"In the hope, therefore, that it may not be altogether displeasing to
your Highness, I have requested the governor of this place to release
four Turkish prisoners, and he has humanely consented to do so. I
lose no time, therefore, in sending them back, in order to make as
early a return as I could for your courtesy on the late occasion.
These prisoners are liberated without any conditions: but should the
circumstance find a place in your recollection, I venture to beg,
that your Highness will treat such Greeks as may henceforth fall into
your hands with humanity; more especially since the horrors of war
are sufficiently great in themselves, without being aggravated by
wanton cruelties on either side. NOEL BYRON."

Another favourite and, as it appeared for some time, practicable
object, on which he had most ardently set his heart, was the intended
attack upon Lepanto--a fortified town[1] which, from its command of
the navigation of the Gulf of Corinth, is a position of the first
importance. "Lord Byron," says Colonel Stanhope, in a letter dated
January 14., "burns with military ardour and chivalry, and will
accompany the expedition to Lepanto." The delay of Parry, the
engineer, who had been for some months anxiously expected with the
supplies necessary for the formation of a brigade of artillery, had
hitherto paralysed the preparations for this important enterprise;
though, in the mean time, whatever little could be effected, without
his aid, had been put in progress both by the appointment of a
brigade of Suliotes to act under Lord Byron, and by the formation, at
the joint expense of his Lordship and Colonel Stanhope, of a small
corps of artillery.

[Footnote 1: The ancient Naupactus, called Epacto by the modern
Greeks, and Lepauto by the Italians.]

It was towards the latter end of January, as we have seen, that Lord
Byron received his regular commission from the Government, as
Commander of the expedition. In conferring upon him full powers, both
civil and military, they appointed, at the same time, a Military
Council to accompany him, composed of the most experienced Chieftains
of the army, with Nota Bozzari, the uncle of the famous warrior, at
their head.

It had been expected that, among the stores sent with Parry, there
would be a supply of Congreve rockets,--an instrument of warfare of
which such wonders had been related to the Greeks as filled their
imaginations with the most absurd ideas of its powers. Their
disappointment, therefore, on finding that the engineer had come
unprovided with these missiles was excessive. Another hope,
too,--that of being enabled to complete an artillery corps by the
accession of those Germans who had been sent for into the Morea,--was
found almost equally fallacious; that body of men having, from the
death or retirement of those who originally composed it, nearly
dwindled away; and the few officers that now came to serve being,
from their fantastic notions of rank and etiquette, far more
troublesome than useful. In addition to these discouraging
circumstances, the five Speziot ships of war which had for some time
formed the sole protection of Missolonghi were now returned to their
home, and had left their places to be filled by the enemy's squadron.

Perplexing as were all these difficulties in the way of the
expedition, a still more formidable embarrassment presented itself in
the turbulent and almost mutinous disposition of those Suliote troops
on whom he mainly depended for success in his undertaking. Presuming
as well upon his wealth and generosity as upon their own military
importance, these unruly warriors had never ceased to rise in the
extravagance of their demands upon him;--the wholly destitute and
homeless state of their families at this moment affording but too
well founded a pretext both for their exaction and discontent. Nor
were their leaders much more amenable to management than themselves.
"There were," says Count Gamba, "six heads of families among them,
all of whom had equal pretensions both by their birth and their
exploits; and none of whom would obey any one of his comrades."

A serious riot to which, about the middle of January, these Suliotes
had given rise, and in which some lives were lost, had been a source
of much irritation and anxiety to Lord Byron, as well from the
ill-blood it was likely to engender between his troops and the
citizens, as from the little dependence it gave him encouragement to
place upon materials so unmanageable. Notwithstanding all this,
however, neither his eagerness nor his efforts for the accomplishment
of this sole personal object of his ambition ever relaxed a single
instant. To whatever little glory was to be won by the attack upon
Lepanto, he looked forward as his only reward for all the sacrifices
he was making. In his conversations with Count Gamba on the subject,
"though he joked a good deal," says this gentleman, "about his post
of 'Archistrategos,' or Commander in Chief, it was plain that the
romance and the peril of the undertaking were great allurements to
him." When we combine, indeed, his determination to stand, at all
hazards, by the cause, with the very faint hopes his sagacious mind
would let him indulge as to his power of serving it, I have little
doubt that the "soldier's grave" which, in his own beautiful verses,
he marked out for himself, was no idle dream of poetry; but that, on
the contrary, his "wish was father to the thought," and that to an
honourable death, in some such achievement as that of storming
Lepanto, he looked forward, not only as the sole means of redeeming
worthily the great pledge he had now given, but as the most signal
and lasting service that a name like his,--echoed, as it would then
be, among the watch-words of Liberty, from age to age,--could
bequeath to her cause.

In the midst of these cares he was much gratified by the receipt of a
letter from an old friend of his, Andrea Londo, whom he had made
acquaintance with in his early travels in 1809, and who was at that
period a rich proprietor, under the Turks, in the Morca.[1] This
patriotic Greek was one of the foremost to raise the standard of the
Cross; and at the present moment stood distinguished among the
supporters of the Legislative Body and of the new national
Government. The following is a translation of Lord Byron's answer to
his letter.

[Footnote 1: This brave Moriote, when Lord Byron first knew him, was
particularly boyish in his aspect and manners, but still cherished,
under this exterior, a mature spirit of patriotism which occasionally
broke forth; and the noble poet used to relate that, one day, while
they were playing at draughts together, on the name of Riga being
pronounced, Londo leaped from the table, and clapping violently his
hands, began singing the famous song of that ill-fated patriot:--

  "Sons of the Greeks, arise!
  The glorious hour's gone forth."]


"Dear Friend,

"The sight of your handwriting gave me the greatest pleasure. Greece
has ever been for me, as it must be for all men of any feeling or
education, the promised land of valour, of the arts, and of liberty;
nor did the time I passed in my youth in travelling among her ruins
at all chill my affection for the birthplace of heroes. In addition
to this, I am bound to yourself by ties of friendship and gratitude
for the hospitality which I experienced from you during my stay in
that country, of which you are now become one of the first defenders
and ornaments. To see myself serving, by your side and under your
eyes, in the cause of Greece, will be to me one of the happiest
events of my life. In the mean time, with the hope of our again

"I am, as ever," &c.

Among the less serious embarrassments of his position at this period,
may be mentioned the struggle maintained against him by his
colleague, Colonel Stanhope,--with a degree of conscientious
perseverance which, even while thwarted by it, he could not but
respect, on the subject of a Free Press, which it was one of the
favourite objects of his fellow-agent to bring instantly into
operation in all parts of Greece. On this important point their
opinions differed considerably; and the following report, by Colonel
Stanhope, of one of their many conversations on the subject, may be
taken as a fair and concise statement of their respective
views:--"Lord Byron said that he was an ardent friend of publicity
and the press: but that he feared it was not applicable to this
society in its present combustible state. I answered that I thought
it applicable to all countries, and essential here, in order to put
an end to the state of anarchy which at present prevailed. Lord B.
feared libels and licentiousness. I said that the object of a free
press was to check public licentiousness, and to expose libellers to
odium. Lord B. had mentioned his conversation with Mavrocordato[1] to
show that the Prince was not hostile to the press. I declared that I
knew him to be an enemy to the press, although he dared not openly to
avow it. His Lordship then said that he had not made up his mind
about the liberty of the press in Greece, but that he thought the
experiment worth trying."

[Footnote 1: Lord Byron had, it seems, acknowledged, on the preceding
evening, his having remarked to Prince Blavrocordato that "if he were
in his situation, he would have placed the press under a censor;" to
which the Prince had replied, "No; the liberty of the press is
guaranteed by the Constitution."]

That between two men, both eager in the service of one common cause,
there should arise a difference of opinion as to the _means_ of
serving it is but a natural result of the varieties of human
judgment, and detracts nothing from the zeal or sincerity of either.
But by those who do not suffer themselves to be carried away by a
theory, it will be conceded, I think, that the scruples professed by
Lord Byron, with respect to the expedience or safety of introducing
what is called a Free Press into a country so little advanced in
civilisation as Greece, were founded on just views of human nature
and practical good sense. To endeavour to force upon a state of
society, so unprepared for them, such full grown institutions; to
think of engrafting, at once, on an ignorant people the fruits of
long knowledge and cultivation,--of importing among them, ready made,
those advantages and blessings which no nation ever attained but by
its own working out, nor ever was fitted to enjoy but by having first
struggled for them; to harbour even a dream of the success of such an
experiment, implies a sanguineness almost incredible, and such as,
though, in the present instance, indulged by the political economist
and soldier, was, as we have seen, beyond the poet.

The enthusiastic and, in many respects, well founded confidence with
which Colonel Stanhope appealed to the authority of Mr. Bentham on
most of the points at issue between himself and Lord Byron, was, from
that natural antipathy which seems to exist between political
economists and poets, but little sympathised in by the latter;--such
appeals being always met by him with those sallies of ridicule, which
he found the best-humoured vent for his impatience under argument,
and to which, notwithstanding the venerable name and services of Mr.
Bentham himself, the quackery of much that is promulgated by his
followers presented, it must be owned, ample scope. Romantic, indeed,
as was Lord Byron's sacrifice of himself to the cause of Greece,
there was in the views he took of the means of serving her not a
tinge of the unsubstantial or speculative. The grand practical task
of freeing her from her tyrants was his first and main object. He
knew that slavery was the great bar to knowledge, and must be broken
through before her light could come; that the work of the sword must
therefore precede that of the pen, and camps be the first schools of

With such sound and manly views of the true exigencies of the crisis,
it is not wonderful that he should view with impatience, and
something, perhaps, of contempt, all that premature apparatus of
printing-presses, pedagogues, &c. with which the Philhellenes of the
London Committee were, in their rage for "utilitarianism,"
encumbering him. Nor were some of the correspondents of this body
much more solid in their speculations than themselves; one
intelligent gentleman having suggested, as a means of conferring
signal advantages on the cause, an alteration of the Greek alphabet.

Though feeling, as strongly, perhaps, as Lord Byron, the importance
of the great object of their mission,--that of rousing and, what was
far more difficult, combining against the common foe the energies of
the country,--Colonel Stanhope was also one of those who thought that
the lights of their great master, Bentham, and the operations of a
press unrestrictedly free, were no less essential instruments towards
the advancement of the struggle; and in this opinion, as we have
seen, the poet and man of literature differed from the soldier. But
it was such a difference as, between men of frank and fair minds, may
arise without either reproach to themselves, or danger to their
cause,--a strife of opinion which; though maintained with heat, may
be remembered without bitterness, and which, in the present instance,
neither prevented Byron, at the close of one of their warmest
altercations, from exclaiming generously to his opponent, "Give me
that honest right hand," nor withheld the other from pouring forth,
at the grave of his colleague, a strain of eulogy[1] not the less
cordial for being discriminatingly shaded with censure, nor less
honourable to the illustrious dead for being the tribute of one who
had once manfully differed with him.

[Footnote 1: Sketch of Lord Byron.--See Colonel Stanhope's "Greece in
1823, 1824," &c.]

Towards the middle of February, the indefatigable activity of Mr.
Parry having brought the artillery brigade into such a state of
forwardness as to be almost ready for service, an inspection of the
Suliote corps took place, preparatory to the expedition; and after
much of the usual deception and unmanageableness on their part, every
obstacle appeared to be at length surmounted. It was agreed that they
should receive a month's pay in advance;--Count Gamba, with 300 of
their corps, as a vanguard, was to march next day and take up a
position under Lepanto, and Lord Byron with the main body and the
artillery was speedily to follow.

New difficulties, however, were soon started by these untractable
mercenaries; and under the instigation, as was discovered afterwards,
of the great rival of Mavrocordato, Colocotroni, who had sent
emissaries into Missolonghi for the purpose of seducing them, they
now put forward their exactions in a new shape, by requiring of the
Government to appoint, out of their number, two generals, two
colonels, two captains, and inferior officers in the same
proportion:--"in short," says Count Gamba, "that, out of three or
four hundred actual Suliotes, there should be about one hundred and
fifty above the rank of common soldiers." The audacious dishonesty of
this demand,--beyond what he could have expected even from
Greeks,--roused all Lord Byron's rage, and he at once signified to
the whole body, through Count Gamba, that all negotiation between
them and himself was at an end; that he could no longer have any
confidence in persons so little true to their engagements; and that
though the relief which he had afforded to their families should
still be continued, all his agreements with them, as a body, must be
thenceforward void.

It was on the 14th of February that this rupture with the Suliotes
took place; and though, on the following day, in consequence of the
full submission of their Chiefs, they were again received into his
Lordship's service on his own terms, the whole affair, combined with
the various other difficulties that now beset him, agitated his mind
considerably. He saw with pain that he should but place in peril both
the cause of Greece and his own character, by at all relying, in such
an enterprise, upon troops whom any intriguer could thus seduce from
their duty; and that, till some more regular force could be
organised, the expedition against Lepanto must be suspended.

While these vexatious events were occurring, the interruption of his
accustomed exercise by the rains but increased the irritability that
such delays were calculated to excite; and the whole together, no
doubt, concurred with whatever predisposing tendencies were already
in his constitution, to bring on that convulsive fit,--the forerunner
of his death,--which, on the evening of the 15th of February, seized
him. He was sitting, at about eight o'clock, with only Mr. Parry and
Mr. Hesketh, in the apartment of Colonel Stanhope,--talking jestingly
upon one of his favourite topics, the differences between himself and
this latter gentleman, and saying that "he believed, after all, the
author's brigade would be ready before the soldier's printing-press."
There was an unusual flush in his face, and from the rapid changes of
his countenance it was manifest that he was suffering under some
nervous agitation. He then complained of being thirsty, and, calling
for some cider, drank of it; upon which, a still greater change being
observable over his features, he rose from his seat, but was unable
to walk, and, after staggering forward a step or two, fell into Mr.
Parry's arms. In another minute, his teeth were closed, his speech
and senses gone, and he was in strong convulsions. So violent,
indeed, were his struggles, that it required all the strength both of
Mr. Parry and his servant Tita to hold him during the fit. His face,
too, was much distorted; and, as he told Count Gamba afterwards, "so
intense were his sufferings during the convulsion, that, had it
lasted but a minute longer, he believed he must have died." The fit
was, however, as short as it was violent; in a few minutes his speech
and senses returned; his features, though still pale and haggard,
resumed their natural shape, and no effect remained from the attack
but excessive weakness. "As soon as he could speak," says Count
Gamba, "he showed himself perfectly free from all alarm; but he very
coolly asked whether his attack was likely to prove fatal. 'Let me
know,' he said; 'do not think I am afraid to die--I am not.'"

This painful event had not occurred more than half an hour, when a
report was brought that the Suliotes were up in arms, and about to
attack the seraglio, for the purpose of seizing the magazines.
Instantly Lord Byron's friends ran to the arsenal; the artillery-men
were ordered under arms; the sentinels doubled, and the cannon loaded
and pointed on the approaches to the gates. Though the alarm proved
to be false, the very likelihood of such an attack shows sufficiently
how precarious was the state of Missolonghi at this moment, and in
what a scene of peril, confusion, and uncomfort, the now nearly
numbered days of England's poet were to close.

On the following morning he was found to be better, but still pale
and weak, and complained much of a sensation of weight in his head.
The doctors, therefore, thought it right to apply leeches to his
temples; but found it difficult, on their removal, to stop the blood,
which continued to flow so copiously, that from exhaustion he
fainted. It must have been on this day that the scene thus described
by Colonel Stanhope occurred:--

"Soon after his dreadful paroxysm, when, faint with over-bleeding, he
was lying on his sick bed, with his whole nervous system completely
shaken, the mutinous Suliotes, covered with dirt and splendid
attires, broke into his apartment, brandishing their costly arms, and
loudly demanding their wild rights. Lord Byron, electrified by this
unexpected act, seemed to recover from his sickness; and the more the
Suliotes raged, the more his calm courage triumphed. The scene was
truly sublime."

Another eye-witness, Count Gamba, bears similar testimony to the
presence of mind with which he fronted this and all other such
dangers. "It is impossible," says this gentleman, "to do justice to
the coolness and magnanimity which he displayed upon every trying
occasion. Upon trifling occasions he was certainly irritable; but the
aspect of danger calmed him in an instant, and restored to him the
free exercise of all the powers of his noble nature. A more undaunted
man in the hour of peril never breathed."

The letters written by him during the few following weeks form, as
usual, the best record of his proceedings, and, besides the sad
interest they possess as being among the latest from his hand, are
also precious, as affording proof that neither illness nor
disappointment, neither a worn-out frame nor even a hopeless spirit,
could lead him for a moment to think of abandoning the great cause he
had espoused; while to the last, too, he preserved unbroken the
cheerful spring of his mind, his manly endurance of all ills that
affected but himself, and his ever-wakeful consideration for the
wants of others.


"February 21.

"I am a good deal better, though of course weakly; the leeches took
too much blood from my temples the day after, and there was some
difficulty in stopping it, but I have since been up daily, and out in
boats of on horseback. To-day I have taken a warm bath, and live as
temperately as can well be, without any liquid but water, and without
animal food.

"Besides the four Turks sent to Patras, I have obtained the release
of four-and-twenty women and children, and sent them at my own
expense to Prevesa, that the English Consul-General may consign them
to their relations. I did this by their own desire. Matters here are
a little embroiled with the Suliotes and foreigners, &c., but I still
hope better things, and will stand by the cause as long as my health
and circumstances will permit me to be supposed useful.[1]

[Footnote 1: In a letter to the same gentleman, dated January 27., he
had already said, "I hope that things here will go on well some time
or other. I will stick by the cause as long as a cause exists--first
or second."]

"I am obliged to support the Government here for the present."

The prisoners mentioned in this letter as having been released by him
and sent to Prevesa, had been held in captivity at Missolonghi since
the beginning of the Revolution. The following was the letter which
he forwarded with them to the English Consul at Prevesa.



"Coming to Greece, one of my principal objects was to alleviate as
much as possible the miseries incident to a warfare so cruel as the
present. When the dictates of humanity are in question, I know no
difference between Turks and Greeks. It is enough that those who want
assistance are men, in order to claim the pity and protection of the
meanest pretender to humane feelings. I have found here twenty-four
Turks, including women and children, who have long pined in distress,
far from the means of support and the consolations of their home. The
Government has consigned them to me; I transmit them to Prevesa,
whither they desire to be sent. I hope you will not object to take
care that they may be restored to a place of safety, and that the
Governor of your town may accept of my present. The best recompense I
can hope for would be to find that I had inspired the Ottoman
commanders with the same sentiments towards those unhappy Greeks who
may hereafter fall into their hands.

"I beg you to believe me," &c.



"Missolonghi, February 21. 1824.

"I have received yours of the 2d of November. It is essential that
the money should be paid, as I have drawn for it all, and more too,
to help the Greeks. Parry is here, and he and I agree very well; and
all is going on hopefully for the present, considering circumstances.

"We shall have work this year, for the Turks are coming down in
force; and, as for me, I must stand by the cause. I shall shortly
march (according to orders) against Lepanto, with two thousand men. I
have been here some time, after some narrow escapes from the Turks,
and also from being ship-wrecked. We were twice upon the rocks; but
this you will have heard, truly or falsely, through other channels,
and I do not wish to bore you with a long story.

"So far I have succeeded in supporting the Government of Western
Greece, which would otherwise have been dissolved. If you have
received the eleven thousand and odd pounds, these, with what I have
in hand, and my income for the current year, to say nothing of
contingencies, will, or might, enable me to keep the 'sinews of war'
properly strung. If the deputies be honest fellows, and obtain the
loan, they will repay the 4000,'. as agreed upon; and even then I
shall save little, or indeed less than little, since I am maintaining
nearly the whole machine--in this place, at least--at my own cost.
But let the Greeks only succeed, and I don't care for myself.

"I have been very seriously unwell, but am getting better, and can
ride about again; so pray quiet our friends on that score.

"It is not true that I ever _did, will, would, could, _ or _should_
write a satire against Gifford, or a hair of his head. I always
considered him as my literary father, and myself as his 'prodigal
son;' and if I have allowed his 'fatted calf' to grow to an ox
before, he kills it on my return, it is only because I prefer beef to
veal. Yours," &c


"February 23.

"My health seems improving, especially from riding and the warm bath.
Six Englishmen will be soon in quarantine at Zante; they are
artificers[1], and have had enough of Greece in fourteen days. If you
could recommend them to a passage home, I would thank you; they are
good men enough, but do not quite understand the little discrepancies
in these countries, and are not used to see shooting and slashing in
a domestic quiet way, or (as it forms here) a part of housekeeping.

[Footnote 1: The workmen who came out with Parry; and who, alarmed by
the scene of confusion and danger they found at Missolonghi, had
resolved to return home.]

"If they should want any thing during their quarantine, you can
advance them not more than a dollar a day (amongst them) for that
period, to purchase them some little extras as comforts (as they are
quite out of their element). I cannot afford them more at present."

The following letter to Mr. Murray,--which it is most gratifying to
have to produce, as the last completing link of a long friendship and
correspondence which had been but for a short time, and through the
fault only of others, interrupted,--contains such a summary of the
chief events now passing round Lord Byron, as, with the assistance of
a few notes, will render any more detailed narrative unnecessary.


"Missolonghi, February 25. 1824.

"I have heard from Mr. Douglas Kinnaird that you state 'a report of a
satire on Mr. Gifford having arrived from Italy, _said_ to be written
by _me_! but that _you_ do not believe it.' I dare say you do not,
nor anybody else, I should think. Whoever asserts that I am the
author or abettor of any thing of the kind on Gifford lies in his
throat. If any such composition exists it is none of mine. _You_ know
as well as any body upon _whom_ I have or have not written; and _you_
also know whether they do or did not deserve that same. And so much
for such matters.

"You will perhaps be anxious to hear some news from this part of
Greece (which is the most liable to invasion); but you will hear
enough through public and private channels. I will, however, give you
the events of a week, mingling my own private peculiar with the
public; for we are here a little jumbled together at present.

"On Sunday (the 15th, I believe,) I had a strong and sudden
convulsive attack, which left me speechless, though not
motionless--for some strong men could not hold me; but whether it was
epilepsy, catalepsy, cachexy, or apoplexy, or what other _exy _ or
_epsy_, the doctors have not decided; or whether it was spasmodic or
nervous, &c.; but it was very unpleasant, and nearly carried me off,
and all that. On Monday, they put leeches to my temples, no difficult
matter, but the blood could not be stopped till eleven at night (they
had gone too near the temporal artery for my temporal safety), and
neither styptic nor caustic would cauterise the orifice till after a
hundred attempts.

"On Tuesday, a Turkish brig of war ran on shore. On Wednesday, great
preparations being made to attack her, though protected by her
consorts[1], the Turks burned her and retired to Patras. On Thursday
a quarrel ensued between the Suliotes and the Frank guard at the
arsenal: a Swedish officer[2] was killed, and a Suliote severely
wounded, and a general fight expected, and with some difficulty
prevented. On Friday, the officer was buried; and Captain Parry's
English artificers mutinied, under pretence that their lives are in
danger, and are for quitting the country:--they may.[3]

[Footnote 1: "Early in the morning we prepared for our attack on the
brig. Lord Byron, notwithstanding his weakness, and an inflammation
that threatened his eyes, was most anxious to be of our party; but
the physicians would not suffer him to go."--COUNT GAMBA'S

His Lordship had promised a reward for every Turk taken alive in the
proposed attack on this vessel.]

[Footnote 2: Captain Sasse, an officer esteemed as one of the best
and bravest of the foreigners in the Greek service. "This," says
Colonel Stanhope, in a letter, February 18th, to the Committee, "is a
serious affair. The Suliotes have no country, no home for their
families; arrears of pay are owing to them; the people of Missolonghi
hate and pay them exorbitantly. Lord Byron, who was to have led them
to Lepanto, is much shaken by his fit, and will probably be obliged
to retire from Greece. In short, all our hopes in this quarter are
damped for the present. I am not a little fearful, too, that these
wild warriors will not forget the blood that has been spilt. I this
morning told Prince Mavrocordato and Lord Byron that they must come
to some resolution about compelling the Suliotes to quit the place."]

[Footnote 3: This was a fresh, and, as may be conceived, serious
disappointment to Lord Byron. "The departure of these men," says
Count Gamba, "made us fear that our laboratory would come to nothing;
for, if we tried to supply the place of the artificers with native
Greeks, we should make but little progress.]

"On Saturday we had the smartest shock of an earthquake which I
remember, (and I have felt thirty, slight or smart, at different
periods; they are common in the Mediterranean,) and the whole army
discharged their arms, upon the same principle that savages beat
drums, or howl, during an eclipse of the moon:--it was a rare scene
altogether--if you had but seen the English Johnnies, who had never
been out of a cockney workshop before!--or will again, if they can
help it--and on Sunday, we heard that the Vizier is come down to
Larissa, with one hundred and odd thousand men.

"In coming here, I had two escapes, one from the Turks, _(one_ of my
vessels was taken, but afterwards released,) and the other from
shipwreck. We drove twice on the rocks near the Scrophes (islands
near the coast).

"I have obtained from the Greeks the release of eight-and-twenty
Turkish prisoners, men, women, and children, and sent them to Patras
and Prevesa at my own charges. One little girl of nine years old, who
prefers remaining with me, I shall (if I live) send, with her mother,
probably, to Italy, or to England. Her name is Hato, or Hatagee. She
is a very pretty, lively child. All her brothers were killed by the
Greeks, and she herself and her mother merely spared by special
favour and owing to her extreme youth, she being then but five or six
years old.

"My health is now better, and I ride about again. My office here is
no sinecure, so many parties and difficulties of every kind; but I
will do what I can. Prince Mavrocordato is an excellent person, and
does all in his power, but his situation is perplexing in the
extreme. Still we have great hopes of the success of the contest. You
will hear, however, more of public news from plenty of quarters; for
I have little time to write.

"Believe me yours, &c. &c. N. BN."

The fierce lawlessness of the Suliotes had now risen to such a height
that it became necessary, for the safety of the European population,
to get rid of them altogether; and, by some sacrifices on the part of
Lord Byron, this object was at length effected. The advance of a
month's pay by him, and the discharge of their arrears by the
Government, (the latter, too, with money lent for that purpose by the
same universal paymaster,) at length induced these rude warriors to
depart from the town, and with them vanished all hopes of the
expedition against Lepanto.


"Missolonghi, Western Greece, March 4. 1824.

"My dear Moore,

"Your reproach is unfounded--I have received two letters from you,
and answered both previous to leaving Cephalonia. I have not been
'quiet' in an Ionian island, but much occupied with business,--as the
Greek deputies (if arrived) can tell you. Neither have I continued
'Don Juan,' nor any other poem. You go, as usual, I presume, by some
newspaper report or other.[1]

[Footnote 1: Proceeding, as he here rightly supposes, upon newspaper
authority, I had in my letter made some allusion to his imputed
occupations, which, in his present sensitiveness on the subject of
authorship, did not at all please him. To this circumstance Count
Gamba alludes in a passage of his Narrative; where, after mentioning
a remark of Byron's, that "Poetry should only occupy the idle, and
that in more serious affairs it would be ridiculous," he adds--
"----, at this time writing to him, said, that he had heard that
'instead of pursuing heroic and warlike adventures, he was residing
in a delightful villa, continuing Don Juan.' This offended him for
the moment, and he was sorry that such a mistaken judgment had been
formed of him."

It is amusing to observe that, while thus anxious, and from a highly
noble motive, to throw his authorship into the shade while engaged in
so much more serious pursuits, it was yet an author's mode of revenge
that always occurred to him, when under the influence of any of these
passing resentments. Thus, when a little angry with Colonel Stanhope
one day, he exclaimed, "I will libel you in your own Chronicle;" and
in this brief burst of humour I was myself the means of provoking in
him, I have been told, on the authority of Count Gamba, that he swore
to "write a satire" upon me.

Though the above letter shows how momentary was any little spleen he
may have felt, there not unfrequently, I own, comes over me a short
pang of regret to think that a feeling of displeasure, however
slight, should have been among the latest I awakened in him.]

"When the proper moment to be of some use arrived, I came here; and
am told that my arrival (with some other circumstances) _has_ been
of, at least, temporary advantage to the cause. I had a narrow escape
from the Turks, and another from Shipwreck on my passage. On the 15th
(or 16th) of February I had an attack of apoplexy, or epilepsy,--the
physicians have not exactly decided which, but the alternative is
agreeable. My constitution, therefore, remains between the two
opinions, like Mahomet's sarcophagus between the magnets. All that I
can say is, that they nearly bled me to death, by placing the leeches
too near the temporal artery, so that the blood could with difficulty
be stopped, even with caustic, I am supposed to be getting better,
slowly, however. But my homilies will, I presume, for the future, be
like the Archbishop of Grenada's--in this case, 'I order you a
hundred ducats from my treasurer, and wish you a little more taste.'

"For public matters I refer you to Colonel Stanhope's and Capt.
Parry's reports,--and to all other reports whatsoever. There is
plenty to do--war without, and tumult within--they 'kill a man a
week,' like Bob Acres in the country. Parry's artificers have gone
away in alarm, on account of a dispute in which some of the natives
and foreigners were engaged, and a Swede was killed, and a Suliote
wounded. In the middle of their fright there was a strong shock of an
earthquake; so, between that and the sword, they boomed off in a
hurry, in despite of all dissuasions to the contrary. A Turkish brig
run ashore, &c. &c. &c.[1]

[Footnote 1: What I have omitted here is but a repetition of the
various particulars, respecting all that had happened since his
arrival, which have already been given in the letters to his other

"You, I presume, are either publishing or meditating that same. Let
me hear from and of you, and believe me, in all events,

"Ever and affectionately yours,

"N. B.

"P.S. Tell Mr. Murray that I wrote to him the other day, and hope
that he has received, or will receive, the letter."


"Missolonghi, March 4. 1824.

"My dear Doctor,

"I have to thank you for your two very kind letters, both received at
the same time, and one long after its date. I am not unaware of the
precarious state of my health, nor am, nor have been, deceived on
that subject. But it is proper that I should remain in Greece; and it
were better to die doing something than nothing. My presence here has
been supposed so far useful as to have prevented confusion from
becoming worse confounded, at least for the present. Should I become,
or be deemed useless or superfluous, I am ready to retire; but in the
interim I am not to consider personal consequences; the rest is in
the hands of Providence,--as indeed are all things. I shall, however,
observe your instructions, and indeed did so, as far as regards
abstinence, for some time past.

"Besides the tracts, &c. which you have sent for distribution, one of
the English artificers (hight Brownbill, a tinman,) left to my charge
a number of Greek Testaments, which I will endeavour to distribute
properly. The Greeks complain that the translation is not correct,
nor in _good_ Romaic: Bambas can decide on that point. I am trying to
reconcile the clergy to the distribution, which (without due regard
to their hierarchy) they might contrive to impede or neutralise in
the effect, from their power over their people. Mr. Brownbill has
gone to the Islands, having some apprehension for his life, (not from
the priests, however,) and apparently preferring rather to be a saint
than a martyr, although his apprehensions of becoming the latter were
probably unfounded. All the English artificers accompanied him,
thinking themselves in danger on account of some troubles here, which
have apparently subsided.

"I have been interrupted by a visit from Prince Mavrocordato and
others since I began this letter, and must close it hastily, for the
boat is announced as ready to sail. Your future convert, Hato, or
Hatagée, appears to me lively, and intelligent, and promising, and
possesses an interesting countenance. With regard to her disposition,
I can say little, but Millingen, who has the mother (who is a
middle-aged woman of good character) in his house as a domestic
(although their family was in good worldly circumstances previous to
the Revolution), speaks well of both, and he is to be relied on. As
far as I know, I have only seen the child a few times with her
mother, and what I have seen is favourable, or I should not take so
much interest in her behalf. If she turns out well, my idea would be
to send her to my daughter in England (if not to respectable persons
in Italy), and so to provide for her as to enable her to live with
reputation either singly or in marriage, if she arrive at maturity. I
will make proper arrangements about her expenses through Messrs.
Barff and Hancock, and the rest I leave to your discretion and to
Mrs. K.'s, with a great sense of obligation for your kindness in
undertaking her temporary superintendence.

"Of public matters here, I have little to add to what you will
already have heard. We are going on as well as we can, and with the
hope and the endeavour to do better. Believe me,

"Ever and truly," &c.


"March 5. 1824.

"If Sisseni[1] is sincere, he will be treated with, and well treated;
if he is not, the sin and the shame may lie at his own door. One
great object is to heal those internal dissensions for the future,
without exacting too rigorous an account of the past. Prince
Mavrocordato is of the same opinion, and whoever is disposed to act
fairly will be fairly dealt with. I _have_ heard a _good deal_ of
Sisseni, but not a _deal_ of _good_: however, I never judge from
report, particularly in a Revolution. _Personally_, I am rather
obliged to him, for he has been very hospitable to all friends of
mine who have passed through his district. You may therefore assure
him that any overture for the advantage of Greece and its internal
pacification will be readily and sincerely met _here_. I hardly think
that he would have ventured a deceitful proposition to me through
_you_, because he must be sure that in such a case it would
eventually be exposed. At any rate, the healing of these dissensions
is so important a point, that something must be risked to obtain it."

[Footnote 1: This Sisseni, who was the _Capitano_ of the rich
district about Gastouni, and had for some time held out against the
general Government, was now, as appears by the above letter, making
overtures, through Mr. Barff, of adhesion. As a proof of his
sincerity, it was required by Lord Byron that he should surrender
into the hands of the Government the fortress of Chiarenza.]


"March 10.

"Enclosed is an answer to Mr. Parruca's letter, and I hope that you
will assure him from me, that I have done and am doing all I can to
re-unite the Greeks with the Greeks.

"I am extremely obliged by your offer of your country house (as for
all other kindness) in case that my health should require my removal;
but I cannot quit Greece while there is a chance of my being of any
(even supposed) utility:--there is a stake worth millions such as I
am, and while I can stand at all, I must stand by the cause. When I
say this, I am at the same time aware of the difficulties and
dissensions and defects of the Greeks themselves; but allowance must
be made for them by all reasonable people.

"My chief, indeed _nine tenths_ of my expenses here are solely in
advances to or on behalf of the Greeks[1], and objects connected with
their independence."

[Footnote 1: "At this time (February 14th)," says Mr. Parry, who kept
the accounts of his Lordship's disbursements, "the expenses of Lord
Byron in the cause of the Greeks did not amount to less than two
thousand dollars per week in rations alone." In another place this
writer says, "The Greeks seemed to think he was a mine from which
they could extract gold at their pleasure. One person represented
that a supply of 20,000 dollars would save the island of Candia from
falling into the hands of the Pacha of Egypt; and there not being
that sum in hand, Lord Byron gave him authority to raise it if he
could in the Islands, and he would guarantee its repayment. I believe
this person did not succeed."]

The letter of Parruca, to which the foregoing alludes, contained a
pressing invitation to Lord Byron to present himself in the
Peloponnesus, where, it was added, his influence would be sure to
bring about the Union of all parties. So general, indeed, was the
confidence placed in their noble ally, that, by every Chief of every
faction, he seems to have been regarded as the only rallying point
round which there was the slightest chance of their now split and
jarring interests being united. A far more flattering, as well as
more authorised, invitation soon after reached him, through an
express envoy, from the Chieftain, Colocotroni, recommending a
National Council, where his Lordship, it was proposed, should act as
mediator, and pledging this Chief himself and his followers to abide
by the result. To this application an answer was returned similar to
that which he sent to Parruca, and which was in terms as follows:--


"March 10. 1824.


"I have the honour of answering your letter. My first wish has always
been to bring the Greeks to agree amongst themselves. I came here by
the invitation of the Greek Government, and I do not think that I
ought to abandon Roumelia for the Peloponnesus until that Government
shall desire it; and the more so, as this part is exposed in a
greater degree to the enemy. Nevertheless, if my presence can really
be of any assistance in uniting two or more parties, I am ready to go
any where, either as a mediator, or, if necessary, as a hostage. In
these affairs I have neither private views, nor private dislike of
any individual, but the sincere wish of deserving the name of the
friend of your country, and of her patriots. I have the honour," &c.


"Missolonghi, March 10. 1824.


"I sent by Mr. J.M. Hodges a bill drawn on Signer C. Jerostatti for
three hundred and eighty-six pounds, on account of the Hon. the Greek
Committee, for carrying on the service at this place. But Count
Delladecima sent no more than two hundred dollars until he should
receive instructions from C. Jerostatti. Therefore I am obliged to
advance that sum to prevent a positive stop being put to the
Laboratory service at this place, &c. &c.

"I beg you will mention this business to Count Delladecima, who has
the draft and every account, and that Mr. Barff, in conjunction with
yourself, will endeavour to arrange this money account, and, when
received, forward the same to Missolonghi.

"I am, Sir, yours very truly.

"So far is written by Captain Parry; but I see that I must continue
the letter myself. I understand little or nothing of the business,
saving and except that, like most of the present affairs here, it
will be at a stand-still if monies be not advanced, and there are few
here so disposed; so that I must take the chance, as usual.

"You will see what can be done with Delladecima and Jerostatti, and
remit the sum, that we may have some quiet; for the Committee have
somehow embroiled their matters, or chosen Greek correspondents more
Grecian than ever the Greeks are wont to be.

"Yours ever, NL. BN.

"P.S. A thousand thanks to Muir for his cauliflower, the finest I
ever saw or tasted, and, I believe, the largest that ever grew out of
Paradise, or Scotland. I have written to quiet Dr. Kennedy about the
newspaper (with which I have nothing to do as a writer, please to
recollect and say). I told the fools of conductors that their motto
would play the devil; but, like all mountebanks, they persisted.
Gamba, who is any thing but _lucky_, had something to do with it;
and, as usual, the moment he had, matters went wrong. [1] It will be
better, perhaps, in time. But I write in haste, and have only time to
say, before the boat sails, that I am ever

"Yours, N. BN.

[Footnote 1: He had a notion that Count Gamba was destined to be
unfortunate,--that he was one of those ill-starred persons with whom
every thing goes wrong. In speaking of this newspaper to Parry, he
said, "I have subscribed to it to get rid of importunity, and, it may
be, keep Gamba out of mischief. At any rate, he can mar nothing that
is of less importance."]

"P.S. Mr. Findlay is here, and has received his money."


"Missolonghi, March 10. 1824.

"Dear Sir,

"You could not disapprove of the motto to the Telegraph more than I
did, and do; but this is the land of liberty, where most people do as
they please, and few as they ought.

"I have not written, nor am inclined to write, for that or for any
other paper, but have suggested to them, over and over, a change of
the motto and style. However, I do not think that it will turn out
either an irreligious or a levelling publication, and they promise
due respect to both churches and things, _i.e._ the editors do.

"If Bambas would write for the Greek Chronicle, he might have his own
price for articles.

"There is a slight demur about Hato's voyage, her mother wishing to
go with her, which is quite natural, and I have not the heart to
refuse it; for even Mahomet made a law, that in the division of
captives, the child should never be separated from the mother. But
this may make a difference in the arrangement, although the poor
woman (who has lost half her family in the war) is, as I said, of
good character, and of mature age, so as to render her respectability
not liable to suspicion. She has heard, it seems, from Prevesa, that
her husband is no longer there. I have consigned your Bibles to Dr.
Meyer; and I hope that the said Doctor may justify your confidence;
nevertheless, I shall keep an eye upon him. You may depend upon my
giving the Society as fair play as Mr. Wilberforce himself would; and
any other commission for the good of Greece will meet with the same
attention on my part.

"I am trying, with some hope of eventual success, to re-unite the
Greeks, especially as the Turks are expected in force, and that
shortly. We must meet them as we may, and fight it out as we can.

"I rejoice to hear that your school prospers, and I assure you that
your good wishes are reciprocal. The weather is so much finer, that I
get a good deal of moderate exercise in boats and on horseback, and
am willing to hope that my health is not worse than when you kindly
wrote to me. Dr. Bruno can tell you that I adhere to your regimen,
and more, for I do not eat any meat, even fish.

"Believe me ever, &c.

"P.S. The mechanics (six in number) were all pretty much of the same
mind. Brownbill was but _one_. Perhaps they are less to blame than is
imagined, since Colonel Stanhope is said to have told them, '_that he
could not positively say their lives were safe.' _ I should like to
know _where_ our life _is_ safe, either here or any where else? With
regard to a place of safety, at least such hermetically sealed safety
as these persons appeared to desiderate, it is not to be found in
Greece, at any rate; but Missolonghi was supposed to be the place
where they would be useful, and their risk was no greater than that
of others."


"Missolonghi, March 19. 1824.

"My dear Stanhope,

"Prince Mavrocordato and myself will go to Salona to meet Ulysses,
and you may be very sure that P.M. will accept any proposition for
the advantage of Greece. Parry is to answer for himself on his own
articles[1]: if I were to interfere with him, it would only stop the
whole progress of his exertion; and he is really doing all that can
be done without more aid from the Government.

[Footnote 1: Colonel Stanhope had, at the instance of the Chief
Odysseus, written to request that some stores from the laboratory at
Missolonghi might be sent to Athens. Neither Prince Mavrocordato,
however, nor Lord Byron considered it prudent, at this time, to
weaken their means for defending Missolonghi, and accordingly sent
back by the messenger but a few barrels of powder.]

"What can be spared will be sent; but I refer you to Captain
Humphries's report, and to Count Gamba's letter for details upon all

"In the hope of seeing you soon, and deferring much that will be to
be said till then,

"Believe me ever, &c.

"P.S. Your two letters (to me) are sent to Mr. Barff, as you desire.
Pray remember me particularly to Trelawney, whom I shall be very much
pleased to see again."


"March 19.

"As Count Mercati is under some apprehensions of a _direct_ answer to
_him_ personally on Greek affairs, I reply (as you authorised me) to
you, who will have the goodness to communicate to him the enclosed.
It is the joint answer of Prince Mavrocordato and of myself, to
Signor Georgio Sisseni's propositions. You may also add, both to him
and to Parruca, that I am perfectly sincere in desiring the most
amicable termination of their internal dissensions, and that I
believe P. Mavrocordato to be so also; otherwise I would not act with
him, or any other, whether native or foreigner.

"If Lord Guilford is at Zante, or, if he is not, if Signor Tricupi is
there, you would oblige me by presenting my respects to one or both,
and by telling them, that from the very first I foretold to Col.
Stanhope and to P. Mavrocordato that a Greek newspaper (or indeed any
other) in _the present state_ of Greece might and probably _would_
tend to much mischief and misconstruction, unless under some
restrictions, nor have I ever had any thing to do with either, as a
writer or otherwise, except as a pecuniary contributor to their
support in the outset, which I could not refuse to the earnest
request of the projectors. Col. Stanhope and myself had considerable
differences of opinion on this subject, and (what will appear
laughable enough) to such a degree, that he charged me with
_despotic_ principles, and I _him_ with ultra radicalism.

"Dr. ----, the editor, with his unrestrained freedom of the press,
and who has the freedom to exercise an unlimited discretion,--not
allowing any article but his own and those like them to appear,--and
in declaiming against restrictions, cuts, carves, and restricts (as
they tell me) at his own will and pleasure. He is the author of an
article against Monarchy, of which he may have the advantage and
fame--but they (the editors) will get themselves into a scrape, if
they do not take care.

"Of all petty tyrants, he is one of the pettiest, as are most
demagogues, that ever I knew. He is a Swiss by birth, and a Greek by
assumption, having married a wife and changed his religion.

"I shall be very glad, and am extremely anxious for some favourable
result to the recent pacific overtures of the contending parties in
the Peloponnese."


"March 23.

"If the Greek deputies (as seems probable) have obtained the Loan,
the sums I have advanced may perhaps be repaid; but it would make no
great difference, as I should still spend that in the cause, and more
to boot--though I should hope to better purpose than paying off
arrears of fleets that sail away, and Suliotes that won't march,
which, they say, what has hitherto been advanced has been employed
in. But that was not my affair, but of those who had the disposal of
affairs, and I could not decently say to them, 'You shall do so and
so, because, &c. &c. &c.'

"In a few days P. Mavrocordato and myself, with a considerable
escort, intend to proceed to Salona at the request of Ulysses and the
Chiefs of Eastern Greece, and take measures offensive and defensive
for the ensuing campaign. Mavrocordato is _almost _ recalled by the
_new_ Government to the Morea, (to take the lead, I rather think,)
and they have written to propose to me to go either to the Morea with
him, or to take the general direction of affairs in this
quarter--with General Londo, and any other I may choose, to form a
council. A. Londo is my old friend and acquaintance since we were
lads in Greece together. It would be difficult to give a positive
answer till the Salona meeting is over[1]; but I am willing to serve
them in any capacity they please, either commanding or commanded--it
is much the same to me, as long as I can be of any presumed use to

[Footnote 1: To this offer of the Government to appoint him
Governor-General of Greece, (that is, of the enfranchised part of the
continent, with the exception of the Morea and the Islands,) his
answer was, that "he was first going to Salona, and that afterwards
he would be at their commands; that he could have no difficulty in
accepting any office, provided he could persuade himself that any
good would result from it."]

"Excuse haste; it is late, and I have been several hours on horseback
in a country so miry after the rains, that every hundred yards brings
you to a ditch, of whose depth, width, colour, and contents, both my
horses and their riders have brought away many tokens."


"March 26.

"Since your intelligence with regard to the Greek loan, P.
Mavrocordato has shown to me an extract from some correspondence of
his, by which it would appear that three commissioners are to be
named to see that the amount is placed in proper hands for the
service of the country, and that my name is amongst the number. Of
this, however, we have as yet only the report.

"This commission is apparently named by the Committee or the
contracting parties in England. I am of opinion that such a
commission will be necessary, but the office will be both delicate
and difficult. The weather, which has lately been equinoctial, has
flooded the country, and will probably retard our proceeding to
Salona for some days, till the road becomes more practicable.

"You were already apprised that P. Mavrocordato and myself had been
invited to a conference by Ulysses and the Chiefs of Eastern Greece.
I hear (and am indeed consulted on the subject) that in case the
remittance of the first advance of the Loan should not arrive
immediately, the Greek General Government mean to try to raise some
thousand dollars in the islands in the interim, to be repaid from the
earliest instalments on their arrival. What prospect of success they
may have, or on what conditions, you can tell better than me: I
suppose, if the Loan be confirmed, something might be done by them,
but subject of course to the usual terms. You can let them and me
know your opinion. There is an imperious necessity for some national
fund, and that speedily, otherwise what is to be done? The auxiliary
corps of about two hundred men, paid by me, are, I believe, the sole
regularly and properly furnished with the money, due to them weekly,
and the officers monthly. It is true that the Greek Government give
their rations; but we have had three mutinies, owing to the badness
of the bread, which neither native nor stranger could masticate (nor
dogs either), and there is still great difficulty in obtaining them
even provisions of any kind.

"There is a dissension among the Germans about the conduct of the
agents of _their_ Committee, and an examination amongst themselves
instituted. What the result may be cannot be anticipated, except that
it will end in _a row_, of course, as usual.

"The English are all very amicable as far as I know; we get on too
with the Greeks very tolerably, always making allowance for
circumstances; and we have no quarrels with the foreigners."

During the month of March there occurred but little, besides what is
mentioned in these letters, that requires to be dwelt upon at any
length, or in detail. After the failure of his design against
Lepanto, the two great objects of his daily thoughts were, the
repairs of the fortifications of Missolonghi [1], and the formation
of a brigade;--the one, with a view to such defensive measures as
were alone likely to be called for during the present campaign; and
the other in preparation for those more active enterprises, which he
still fondly flattered himself he should undertake in the next. "He
looked forward (says Mr. Parry) for the recovery of his health and
spirits, to the return of the fine weather, and the commencement of
the campaign, when he proposed to take the field at the head of his
own brigade, and the troops which the Government of Greece were to
place under his orders."

[Footnote 1: The generous zeal with which he applied himself to this
important object will be understood from the following
statement:--"On reporting to Lord Byron what I thought might be done,
he ordered me to draw up a plan for putting the fortifications in
thorough repair, and to accompany it with an estimate of the expense.
It was agreed that I should make the estimate only one third of what
I thought would be the actual expense; and if that third could be
procured from the magistrates, Lord Byron undertook secretly to pay
the remainder."]

With that thanklessness which too often waits on disinterested
actions, it has been sometimes tauntingly remarked, and in quarters
from whence a more generous judgment might be expected [1], that,
after all, Lord Byron effected but little for Greece:--as if much
_could_ be effected by a single individual, and in so short a time,
for a cause which, fought as it has been almost incessantly through
the six years since his death, has required nothing less than the
intervention of all the great Powers of Europe to give it a chance of
success, and, even so, has not yet succeeded. That Byron himself was
under no delusion as to the importance of his own solitary aid,--that
he knew, in a struggle like this, there must be the same prodigality
of means towards one great end as is observable in the still grander
operations of nature, where individuals are as nothing in the tide of
events,--that such was his, at once, philosophic and melancholy view
of his own sacrifices, I have, I trust, clearly shown. But that,
during this short period of action, he did not do well and wisely all
that man could achieve in the time, and under the circumstances, is
an assertion which the noble facts here recorded fully and
triumphantly disprove. He knew that, placed as he was, his measures,
to be wise, must be prospective, and from the nature of the seeds
thus sown by him, the benefits that were to be expected must be
judged. To reconcile the rude chiefs to the Government and to each
other;--to infuse a spirit of humanity, by his example, into their
warfare;--to prepare the way for the employment of the expected Loan,
in a manner most calculated to call forth the resources of the
country;--to put the fortifications of Missolonghi in such a state of
repair as might, and eventually _did_, render it proof against the
besieger;--to prevent those infractions of neutrality, so tempting to
the Greeks, which brought their Government in collision with the
Ionian authorities[2], and to restrain all such license of the Press
as might indispose the Courts of Europe to their cause:--such were
the important objects which he had proposed to himself to accomplish,
and towards which, in this brief interval, and in the midst of such
dissensions and hinderances, he had already made considerable and
most promising progress. But it would be unjust to close even here
the bright catalogue of his services. It is, after all, _not_ with
the span of mortal life that the good achieved by a name immortal
ends. The charm acts into the future,--it is an auxiliary through all
time; and the inspiring example of Byron, as a martyr of liberty, is
for ever freshly embalmed in his glory as a poet. From the period of
his attack in February he had been, from time to time, indisposed;
and, more than once, had complained of vertigos, which made him feel,
he said, as if intoxicated. He was also frequently affected with
nervous sensations, with shiverings and tremors, which, though
apparently the effects of excessive debility, he himself attributed
to fulness of habit. Proceeding upon this notion, he had, ever since
his arrival in Greece, abstained almost wholly from animal food, and
ate of little else but dry toast, vegetables, and cheese. With the
same fear of becoming fat, which had in his young days haunted him,
he almost every morning measured himself round the wrist and waist,
and whenever he found these parts, as he thought, enlarged, took a
strong dose of medicine.

[Footnote 1: Articles in the Times newspaper, Foreign Quarterly
Review, &c.]

[Footnote 2: In a letter which he addressed to Lord Sidney Osborne,
enclosing one, on the subject of these infractions, from Prince
Mavrocordato to Sir T. Maitland, Lord Byron says,--"You must all be
persuaded how difficult it is, under existing circumstances, for the
Greeks to keep up discipline, however they may be all disposed to do
so, I am doing all I can to convince them of the necessity of the
strictest observance of the regulations of the Islands, and, I trust,
with some effect"]

Exertions had, as we have seen, been made by his friends at
Cephalonia, to induce him, without delay, to return to that island,
and take measures, while there was yet time, for the re-establishment
of his health. "But these entreaties (says Count Gamba) produced just
the contrary effect; for in proportion as Byron thought his position
more perilous, he the more resolved upon remaining where he was." In
the midst of all this, too, the natural flow of his spirits in
society seldom deserted him; and whenever a trick upon any of his
attendants, or associates, suggested itself, he was as ready to play
the mischief-loving boy as ever. His engineer, Parry, having been
much alarmed by the earthquake they had experienced, and still
continuing in constant apprehension of its return, Lord Byron
contrived, as they were all sitting together one evening, to have
some barrels full of cannon-balls trundled through the room above
them; and laughed heartily, as he would have done when a Harrow boy,
at the ludicrous effect which this deception produced on the poor
frightened engineer.

Every day, however, brought new trials both to his health and temper.
The constant rains had rendered the swamps of Missolonghi almost
impassable;--an alarm of plague, which, about the middle of March,
was circulated, made it prudent, for some time, to keep within doors;
and he was thus, week after week, deprived of his accustomed air and
exercise. The only recreation he had recourse to was that of playing
with his favourite dog, Lion; and, in the evening, going through the
exercise of drilling with his officers, or practising at

At the same time, the demands upon his exertions, personal and
pecuniary, poured in from all sides, while the embarrassments of his
public position every day increased. The chief obstacle in the way of
his plan for the reconciliation of all parties had been the rivalry
so long existing between Mavrocordato and the Eastern Chiefs; and
this difficulty was now not a little heightened by the part taken by
Colonel Stanhope and Mr. Trelawney, who, having allied themselves
with Odysseus, the most powerful of these Chieftains, were
endeavouring actively to detach Lord Byron from Mavrocordato, and
enlist him in their own views. This schism was,--to say the least of
it,--ill-timed and unfortunate. For, as Prince Mavrocordato and Lord
Byron were now acting in complete harmony with the Government, a
co-operation of all the other English agents on the same side would
have had the effect of assuring a preponderance to this party (which
was that of the civil and commercial interests all through Greece),
that might, by strengthening the hands of the ruling power, have
afforded some hope of vigour and consistency in its movements. By
this division, however, the English lost their casting weight; and
not only marred whatever little chance they might have had of
extinguishing the dissensions of the Greeks, but exhibited, most
unseasonably, an example of dissension among themselves.

The visit to Salona, in which, though distrustful of the intended
Military Congress, Mavrocordato had consented to accompany Lord
Byron, was, as the foregoing letters have mentioned, delayed by the
floods,--the river Fidari having become so swollen as not to be
fordable. In the mean time, dangers, both from within and without,
threatened Missolonghi. The Turkish fleet had again come forth from
the Gulf, while, in concert, it was apprehended, with this resumption
of the blockade, insurrectionary movements, instigated, as was
afterwards known, by the malcontents of the Morea, manifested
themselves formidably both in the town and its neighbourhood. The
first cause for alarm was the landing, in canoes, from Anatolico, of
a party of armed men, the followers of Cariascachi of that place, who
came to demand retribution from the people of Missolonghi for some
injury that, in a late affray, had been inflicted on one of their
clan. It was also rumoured that 300 Suliotes were marching upon the
town; and the following morning, news came that a party of these wild
warriors had actually seized upon Basiladi, a fortress that commands
the port of Missolonghi, while some of the soldiers of Cariascachi
had, in the course of the night, arrested two of the Primates, and
carried them to Anatolico. The tumult and indignation that this
intelligence produced was universal. All the shops were shut, and the
bazaars deserted. "Lord Byron," says Count Gamba, "ordered his troops
to continue under arms; but to preserve the strictest neutrality,
without mixing in any quarrel, either by actions or words."

During this crisis, the weather had become sufficiently favourable to
admit of his paying the visit to Salona, which he had purposed. But,
as his departure at such a juncture might have the appearance of
abandoning Missolonghi, he resolved to wait the danger out. At this
time the following letters were written.


"April 3.

"There is a quarrel, not yet settled, between the citizens and some
of Cariascachi's people, which has already produced some blows. I
keep my people quite neutral; but have ordered them to be on their

"Some days ago we had an Italian private soldier drummed out for
thieving. The German officers wanted to flog him; but I flatly
refused to permit the use of the stick or whip, and delivered him
over to the police.[1] Since then a Prussian officer rioted in his
lodgings; and I put him under arrest, according to the order. This,
it appears, did not please his German confederation: but I stuck by
my text; and have given them plainly to understand, that those who do
not choose to be amenable to the laws of the country and service, may
retire; but that in all that I have to do, I will see them obeyed by
foreigner or native.

[Footnote 1: "Lord Byron declared that, as far as he was concerned,
no barbarous usages, however adopted even by some civilised people,
should be introduced into Greece; especially as such a mode of
punishment would disgust rather than reform. We hit upon an expedient
which favoured our military discipline: but it required not only all
Lord Byron's eloquence, but his authority, to prevail upon our
Germans to accede to it. The culprit had his uniform stripped off his
back, in presence of his comrades, and was afterwards marched through
the town with a label on his back, describing, both in Greek and
Italian, the nature of his offence; after which he was given up to
the regular police. This example of severity, tempered by a humane
spirit, produced the best effect upon our soldiers, as well as upon
the citizens of the town. But it was very near causing a most
disagreeable circumstance; for, in the course of the evening, some
very high words passed on the subject between three Englishmen, two
of them officers of our brigade, in consequence of which cards were
exchanged, and two duels were to have been fought the next morning.
Lord Byron did not hear of this till late at night: but he
immediately ordered me to arrest both parties, which I according did;
and, after some difficulty, prevailed on them to shake hands."--COUNT
GAMBA'S _Narrative_.]

"I wish something was heard of the arrival of part of the Loan, for
there is a plentiful dearth of every thing at present."


"April 6.

"Since I wrote, we have had some tumult here with the citizens and
Cariascachi's people, and all are under arms, our boys and all. They
nearly fired on me and fifty of my lads[1], by mistake, as we were
taking our usual excursion into the country. To-day matters are
settled or subsiding; but, about an hour ago, the father-in-law of
the landlord of the house where I am lodged (one of the Primates the
said landlord is) was arrested for high treason.

[Footnote 1: A corps of fifty Suliotes which he had, almost ever
since his arrival at Missolonghi, kept about him as a body-guard. A
large outer room of his house was appropriated to these troops; and
their carbines were suspended along the walls. "In this room (says
Mr. Parry), and among these rude soldiers, Lord Byron was accustomed
to walk a great deal, particularly in wet weather, accompanied by his
favourite dog, Lion."

When he rode out, these fifty Suliotes attended him on foot; and
though they carried their carbines, "they were always," says the same
authority, "able to keep up with the horses at full speed. The
captain, and a certain number, preceded his Lordship, who rode
accompanied on one side by Count Gamba, and on the other by the Greek
interpreter. Behind him, also on horseback, came two of his
servants,--generally his black groom, and Tita,--both dressed like
the chasseurs usually seen behind the carriages of ambassadors, and
another division of his guard closed the cavalcade."--PARRY'S _Last
Days of Lord Byron_.]

"They are in conclave still with Mavrocordato; and we have a number
of new faces from the hills, come to assist, they say. Gun-boats and
batteries all ready, &c.

"The row has had one good effect--it has put them on the alert. What
is to become of the father-in-law, I do not know: nor what he has
done, exactly[1]: but

  "''Tis a very fine thing to be father-in-law
  To a very magnificent three-tail'd bashaw,'

as the man in Bluebeard says and sings. I wrote to you upon matters
at length, some days ago; the letter, or letters, you will receive
with this. We are desirous to hear more of the Loan; and it is some
time since I have had any letters (at least of an interesting
description) from England, excepting one of 4th February, from
Bowring (of no great importance). My latest dates are of 9bre, or of
the 6th 10bre, four months exactly. I hope you get on well in the
islands: here most of us are, or have been, more or less indisposed,
natives as well as foreigners."

[Footnote 1: This man had, it seems, on his way from Ioannina, passed
by Anatolico, and held several conferences with Cariascachi. He had
long been suspected of being a spy; and the letters found upon him
confirmed the suspicion.]


"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

[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

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

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


"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

  (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

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

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

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:--

  22D OF JANUARY, 1788.

  19TH OF APRIL, 1824,

       *       *       *       *       *


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


  Ton en tê Helladi têleutêsanta

       *       *       *       *       *

  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.]



    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.

    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

[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

[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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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'

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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.


       *       *       *       *       *



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

3 Of which words thou shouldst inform thyself:

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

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

[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

[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.]


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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_.


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

[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

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

[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.

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

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


"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.


"_Hanger Hill, Feb_. 19. 1830."

       *       *       *       *       *


_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

"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

[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

"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.



_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."


_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.


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.

  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,


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.


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

  Deputy Registrars.

       *       *       *       *       *




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.]


(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

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

    "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

    "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

    "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

"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

    "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

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

  [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.


       *       *       *       *       *


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

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!


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

                       "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

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

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.

       *       *       *       *       *


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.


[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

"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

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

"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

"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."


"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?"


"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.

       *       *       *       *       *



       *       *       *       *       *

    "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

  "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

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

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,

  "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,


_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.



       *       *       *       *       *

_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.

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

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

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

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,

  "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

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

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,


_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

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

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

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

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


       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *


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
  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
'Æneid, the,' written for political purposes
  His 'Prometheus'
  His 'Seven before Thebes'
'Agathon,' Wieland's history of
Aglietti, Dr., MS. letters in his profession offered to Mr. Murray
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
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
Aristophanes, Mitchell's translation of
'Armageddon,' Townshend's poem so called
Armenian Convent of St. Lazarus
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
Augusta, stanzas to
Augustus Cæsar, his times
'Auld lang syne'
Authors, an irritable set
'Away, away, ye notes of woe'
'A year ago you swore,' &c.


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
'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
  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
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
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
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
  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
    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
    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
    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
    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'
      '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
    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
    Makes a short visit to Rome, and writes there a new third act to
    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
    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


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'
  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
  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
Christ, what proved him the Son of God
'Christabel', Lord Byron's admiration of
Cicero, Antony's treatment of
Cintra, the most beautiful village in the world
Clare (John Fitzgibbon), Earl of
Clare, John, the poet
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
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
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
Cordova, Admiral
----, Sennorita
'Corinne,' notes written by Lord Byron in
----, capture of
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'
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'
Curzon, Mr.
Cuvìer, Baron


Dallas, Robert Charles, commencement of his acquaintance with Lord
  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'
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
D'Arblay, Madame (Miss Burney), 1000 guineas asked for one of her
  Her 'Cecilia'
  See also
Darnley, death of, a fine subject for a drama
Darwin, Dr. Erasmus, put down by the Anti-Jacobin
Davies, Scrope, esq.
Davy, Sir Humphry
Dawkins, Mr.
'DEAR DOCTOR, I have read your play'
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
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
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
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
  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
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
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'


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
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
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


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
Fame, first tidings of, to Lord Byron
  See. also
'FARE THEE WELL, and if for ever'
Farrell, D., esq.
'Faust,' Goethe's
'Faustus,' Marlow's
Fawcett, John, comedian
'Fazio,' Milman's tragedy of
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
  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
Free press in Greece
Frere, Right Hon. John Hookham, his 'Whistlecraft'
Friday, supposed unluckiness of


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
  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
  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)


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
Hazlitt, William, his style
Headfort, Marchioness of
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
  'LINES on the birth of his son'
  Lord Byron's letters to
  see also
Horace, Lord Byron's early dislike to
'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
  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'


Ida, mount
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
Iris, the
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


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
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


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
  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
Knight, Galley, esq.
  His 'Persian Tales'
Knox, Captain (British resident at Ithaca)
Kosciusko, General
Koran, sublime poetical passages in


La Bruytère
Lago Maggiore
Lake Leman
Lake School of Poetry
'Lakers,' the
'Lalla Rookh'
Lamartine, M.
Lamb, Hon. George
----, Lady Caroline
  Her 'Glenarvon'
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
Leveson-Gower, Lady Charlotte (afterwards Countess of Surrey)
Levis, Due de
Lewis, Matthew Gregory, esq.
'Liberal,' the
'Lisbon packet'
Liston, Sir Robert
----, John, comedian
Little's Poems
Liverpool, Earl of
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)
Longmans, Messrs.
Love, 'Not the principal passion for tragedy.'
  Success in, dependent on fortune
Low spirits
Lowe, Sir Hudson
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


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
Maid of Athens
  Account of
Maintenon, Madame
Malamocco, wall of
  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
  advanced into the second act
  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.'
Marriage ceremony
Marriages, great cause of unhappy ones
'Mary,' Lord Byron's love for the name
---- of Aberdeen
Mathews, Charles, comedian
Mathurin, Rev. Charles
  His 'Bertram.'
  His 'Manuel,'
Matlock, Lord Byron at
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
Medicine, effects of, on the mind and spirits
Medwin, Captain, his acquaintance with Lord Byron at Pisa
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
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
Milman, Rev. Henry Hart, now Dean of St. Paul's, his 'Fazio'
Milnes, Robert, esq.
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
Modern gardening, Pope the chief inventor of
Moira, Earl of (afterwards Marquis of Hastings)
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
'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
  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
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
  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'


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'
----, 'PRAYER of.'
'Naufragia,' Clarke's
Nelson, Southey's Life of
Nepean, Mr.
----, Sir Evan
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
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


Oak, the Byron
O'Donnovan, P.M., his 'Sir Proteus.'
'OH! banish care.'
'OH! Memory, torture me no more.'
O'Higgins, Mr., his Irish tragedy
O'Neil, Miss, actress
Orators, only two thorough ones
  'Things of ages.'
Orrery, Earl of, his Life of Swift quoted
Osborne, Lord Sidney
'Otello,' Rossini's
Otway, his three requisites for an Englishman
His 'Beividera.'
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


'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
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
Pasquali, Padre
Past, 'the best prophet of the future.'
Paterson, Mr. (Lord Byron's tutor at Aberdeen)
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
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
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
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'
  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
See also
Polidori, Dr.
  Some account of
  Anecdotes of
  His 'Vampire
  His tragedy
Political consistency
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'
  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
Probabilities, Dr. Miller's Essay on
Probationary Odes
Prologues, 'only two decent ones in our language'
'PROMETHEUS,' of Æschylus
Pulci, his 'Morgante Maggiore'
  'Sire of the half serious rhyme'


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


Rae, John, comedian
Rainsford, Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow
Rancliffe, Lord
Raphael, his hair
Rashleigh, Lord Byron's schoolfellow at Harrow
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
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
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


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
Scaligers, tomb of the
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
  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
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
Self-educated poets
Separation, miseries of
Seraglio at Constantinople, description of
Settle, Elkanah, his 'Emperor of Morocco'
'Seven before Thebes'
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.
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
Sigeum, Cape
Simplon, the
Sinclair, George, esq., 'the prodigy' of Harrow School
'Sir Proteus,' a satirical ballad
Slave trade
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
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
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
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
  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
Switzerland and the Swiss


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
Temple, Sir William, his opinion of poetry
Terni, Falls of
Terry, Daniel, comedian
Theatricals, private, at Southwell
'This day of all our days has done'
Thomas of Ercildoune
Thompson, Mr.
Thomson, James, the poet, his 'Seasons' would have been better in
Thorwaldsen, the sculptor, his bust of Lord Byron
'THOUGH the day of my destiny's o'er'
  'THROUGH life's dull road, so dim and dirty'
Thurlow (Thomas Hovell Thurlow) second Lord
''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
  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.


Unities, the


Vacca, Dr.
Valentia, Lord (now Earl of Mountnorris)
Valière, Madame la
'VAMPIRE, The, a Fragment'
Vanbrugh, his comedies
Vanessa, Swift's
'Vanity of Human Wishes,' Johnson's
Veli Pacha
Venetian dialect
Venice, the gondolas
  St. Mark's
  Morals and manners in
  Nobility of
  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
Vestris, Italian comedian
Vicar of Wakefield
Voltaire, gave away his copyrights
  D'Argenson's advice to
Vondel, the Dutch Shakspeare
Vulgarity of style


Waite, Mr. (Lord Byron's dentist)
Wales, Princess of (afterwards Queen Caroline)
Wallace, the Scottish chief
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
'What matter the pangs'
'When man expelled from Eden's bowers'
'When Time, who steals our years away'
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?'
  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
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


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


Zograffo, Demetrius


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