delight of the true Poet, and are characteristic of the mind of man. We trust that this gentleman (whether passing by the name of Childe Harold, or Lara, or Manfred, or Cain, or quocunque nomine gaudet) in whatever metamorphosis he may chuse to assume, has had his day, and is dismissed; for after all it is a grotesque original. It is the Satan of Milton grafted on a Bond-street exquisite, and originally came to us from the Woods of Saxony. Byron often talked of the Authors of the Rejected Addresses, and alwaysin terms of unqualified praise. He says that the imitations, unlike all other imitations, are full of genius, and that the 'Cui bono' has some lines that he should have wished to have written. "Parodies," he said, always gave a bad impression of the original, but in the "Rejected Addresses," the reverse was the fact; and he quoted the 2d and 3d stanzas in imitation of himself, as admirable and just, and what he could have wished to write on a similar subject. Byron is a great admirer of the poetry of Barry Cornwall, which he says is full of imagination and beauty, possessing a refinement and delicacy, that whilst they add all the charms of a woman's mind, take off none of the force of a man's. He expressed his hope that Barry Cornwall would devote himself to tragedy, saying that he was sure he would become one of the first writers of the day." "The truest picture of the misery unhallowed liaisons produce, said Byron, is in the Adolphe of B. Constant. I told Mad. de Stael that there was more morale in that book, than in all she ever wrote, and that it ought always to be given to every young woman who had read Corinne, as an antidote. Poor de Stael, she came down upon me like an avalanche whenever I told her any of my amiable truths, sweeping everything before her with that eloquence that always overwhelmed, but never convinced. She however, good soul, believed she had convinced, whenever she silenced an opponent, an effect she generally produced, as she (to use an Irish phrase,) succeeded in bothering, and producing a confusion of ideas that left one little able or willing to continue an argument with her. I liked her daughter very much, said Byron, 1 wonder will she turn out literary? At all events, though she may not write, she possesses the power of judging the writings of others, is highly educated and clever, but I thought a little given to systems, which is not in general the fault of young women, and above all gay young Frenchwomen." Lord Byron was not by any means a person of finished conversational talents; for which, the reasons may easily be alleged. He said he disliked every-day topics of literature, he thought it a waste of time. But that if he met with a person with whom he could think aloud, and give utterance to his thoughts on abstract subjects, he was sure it would excite the energies of his mind. " I like," he said, " to go home with a new idea. It sets my mind to think. I enlarge it; and it often gives birth to many others. This one can only do in a téte-à-tête. I felt the advantage of this in my rides with Hoppner at Venice. He was a good listener, and his remarks were acute and original; he is besides a thorough good man, and I know he was in earnest when he gave me his opinions. But conversation such as we find in society, and above all in English society, is as uninteresting as it is artificial, and few can leave the best, with the consolation of carrying away with him a new thought, or of leaving behind him an old friend." Talking of Mr. Ward, Lord Byron said, "Ward is one of the best-informed men I know, and in a tête-à-tête is one of the most agreeable companions. He has great originality, and being très distrait, it adds to the piquancy of his observations, which are sometimes trop naïve, though always amusing. This naïveté of his, is the more piquant from his being really a good natured man, who unconsciously thinks aloud. Interest Ward on a subject, and I know no one who can talk better. His expressions are concise without being poor, GENT. MAG. VOL. 1. 4 E and terse and epigrammatic without being affected. He can compress as much into as few words as any one I know, and if he gave more of his attention to his associates, and less to himself, he would be one of the few whom one could praise without being compelled to use the conjunctive but. Ward has bad bealth, and like all valetudinarians, it occupies his attention too much, which will probably bring on a worse state, that of confirmed egoism, a malady that, though not to be found in the catalogue of ailments to which man is subject, yet perhaps is more to be dreaded than all that are. He is not properly appreciated in England. The English can better understand and enjoy the bon mots of a bon vivant, who can at all times set the table in a roar, than the neat repliques of Ward, which, exciting reflection, are more likely to silence the rabble riot of intemperance. They like better the person who makes them laugh, than he who forces them to think, so that poor Ward,* finding himself undervalued, sinks into self: and this at the long run is dangerous. There are many men in England (continued Byron), of superior ability, who are lost from the habits and inferiority of their associates. Such men finding that they cannot raise their companions to their level, are but too apt to let themselves down to that of the persons they live with, and hence many a man is condemned to be a wit and man of pleasure, who was born for better things. Poor Sheridan often played this character in society, but he maintained his superiority over the herd, by having established a literary and political reputation: and as I have heard him more than once say, when his jokes have drawn down plaudits from companies, to whom, of an evening at least, sobriety and sadness are alike unknown, -' It is some consolation, that if I set the table in a roar, I can at pleasure set the senate in a roar;' and this was remarked while under the influence of wine, and as if for apologizing to his own mind for the profanation he felt he had offered it at the moment.† Lord Alvanley is a delightful companion, brilliant, witty, and playful; he can be irresistibly comic when he pleases, but what would he not be if he pleased? for he has talents to be anything. I lose patience when I see such a man throw himself away; for there are plenty of men who could be witty, brilliant, and sincere, and who could be nothing else, while he is all these, but could be much more. How many men have made a figure in public life without half of his abilities; but indolence and the love of pleasure will be the bane of Alvanley, as it has been of many a man of talent before. Byron was fond of talking of Napoleon "When Metternich was depreciating the genius of Napoleon in a circle at Vienna where his word was a Law, and his nod a decree, he appealed to Mr. William Ward if Bonaparte had not been greatly overrated? Ward's answer was as courageous as admirable. He replied that Napoleon had rendered past glory doubtful, and future fame impossible.' This was expressed in French, and such pure French, that all present were struck with admiration no less with the thought, than with the mode of expressing it. I told Byron that this reminded me of a reply made by Mr. Ward to a lady at Vienna, who somewhat rudely remarked to him, that it was strange that all the best society at Vienna spoke French as well as German, while the English scarcely spoke French at all, or spoke it ill. Ward answered, that the English must be excused from their want of practice, as the French army had not been twice to London to teach them, as they had been at Vienna.' The coolness of Ward's manner (said Byron) must have lent force to such a reply; I have heard him say many things worth remembering; and the neatness of expression was as remarkable as the justness of the thought." * The writer of this article remembers Mr. Ward telling him of his being asked as a lion to a great lioness, the Countess of J; but his wit did not take, and the invitation was never repeated. Mr. Ward's wit was rather caustic; often a little learned, and not much to the taste of the Ladies. In Lord Byron's eulogy on Lord Dudley, we cordially join. + Is Gifford's allusion to Sheridan, in the Mæviad, forgotten amid the mass of poetry that has succeeded it? And you too, whole Menander! who combine Lord John Russell comes in for a moderate share of praise. The commendation passed on Mr. Hallam is only the just tribute paid by genius to a person of very superior erudition, and very comprehensive mind: "Do you know Hallam? Of course, I need not ask you if you have read his Middle Ages? It is an admirable work, full of research, and does Hallam honour. I know no one capable of having written it, except him; for admitting that a writer could be found, who could bring to the task his knowledge and talents, it would be difficult to find one who united to these his research, patience, and perspicuity of style. The language well chosen and impressive. I remember being struck with a passage, where touching on the Venetians, he says, 'Too blind to avert danger, too cowardly to withstand it, the most ancient government of Europe made not an instant's resistance. The peasants of Underwald died upon their mountains; the nobles of Venice clung only to their lives. This is the style in which history ought to be written, if it is wished to impress it on the memory." Of Sir James Mackintosh, Lord Byron says, "His is a mind of a powerful calibre. Mad. de Stael used to extol him to the skies, and was perfectly sincere in her admiration of him, which was not the case with all whom she praised. Mackintosh also praised her; but his is a mind that, as Moore writes, rather leans to praise than blame; for, with a judgment so comprehensive, a knowledge so general, and a critical acumen rarely to be met with, his sentences are never severe. He is a powerful writer and speaker. There is an earnestness and vigour in his style, and a force and purity in his language, equally free from inflation and loquacity." " Lord Erskine is or was, for I suppose age has not improved him more than it generally does people, the most brilliant person imaginable, quick, vivacious, and sparkling; he spoke so well, that I never felt tired of listening to him, even when he abandoned himself to that subject, of which all his other friends and acquaintances expressed themselves so fatigued, -self. His egotism was remarkable, but there was a bonhommie about it, that showed he had a better opinion of mankind than they deserved; for it implied a belief that his listeners could be interested in what concerned Erskine had been him whom they professed t a great man, and he knew it; and in talking so continually of self, imagined that he was but the echo of Fame. All his talents, wit, and brilliancy were insufficient to excuse this weakness in the opinion of his friends; and I have seen bores, acknowledged bores, turn from this clever man with every symptom of ennui, when he has been reciting an interesting anecdote, merely because he was the principal actor in it." they professed to like. From the ex-Chancellor we must pass on to a Poet, whose Parnassus is made up of a kind of papier maché, adorned with silver tissue, whose Helicon glitters with gold and silver fishes, and whose Muses and Graces are dressed after the most approved fashion of Almack's. "Did you know William Spencer, the poet of society, as they used to call him? His was what really your countrymen call an elegant mind, polished, graceful, and sentimental, with just enough gaiety to prevent his being lachrymose, and enough sentiment to prevent his being too Anacreontic. There was a great deal of genuine fun in Spencer's conversation, as well as a great deal of refined sentiment in his verses. I liked both, for both were perfectly aristocratic in their way; neither the one nor the other was calculated to please the canaille, which made me like them all the better." Byron always talks in terms of high admiration of Mr. Canning; says "he is a man of superior abilities, brilliant fancy, cultivated mind, and most effective eloquence; and adds, that Canning only wanted to be born to a good estate, to have made a great statesman. Fortune would have saved him from tergiversation, the bare suspicion of which is destructive to the confidence a statesman ought to inspire. As it is," said he, "Canning is brilliant, but not great, with all the elements in him that constitute greatness." Byron continually reverts to Sir Walter Scott, and always in terms of admiration for his genius, and affection for his good qualities. He says he never got up from a perusal of one of his works, without finding himself in a better disposition, and that he generally read his novels three times. "I find such a just mode of thinking, that I could fill volumes with detached thoughts of Scott, all and each full of truth and beauty. Then how good are his definitions. Do you remember in the 'Peveril of the Peak,' where he says, 'Presence of mind is courage. Real valour consists not in being insensible to danger, but in being prompt to confront and disarm it.' How true is this, and what an admirable distinction between moral and physical courage! How applicable to Scott's works is the observation made by Mad. de Deffand on Richardson's Novels, in one of her letters to Voltaire, La morale y est en action, et n'a jamais été traité d'une manière plus intéressante. On meurt d'envie d'être parfait apres cette lecture, et l'on croit que rien n'est si aisé.' I think (continued Byron after a pause) that Scott is the only very successful genius that could be cited as being generally beloved as a man, as he is admired as an author; and I must add he deserves it; for he is so thoroughly good-natured, sincere, and honest, that he disarms the envy and jealousy his extraordinary genius must excite." This praise is well and discriminately given. From the Enchanter of the North, his Lordship passes to the shores of Baiæ, and the grottos of Tarento. "When you go to Naples, you must make acquaintance with Sir W. Drummond, for he is certainly one of the most erudite men and admirable philosophers now living. He has all the wit of Voltaire, with a propriety that seldom appertains to wit, and writes so forcibly, and with such elegance and purity of style, that his works possess a peculiar charm. Have you read his Academical Questions?' What a question to a Philosopher in petticoats ! "If not, get them directly, and I think you will agree with me, that the preface to that work alone would prove Sir W. Drummond an admirable writer. He concludes it by the following sentence, which I think one of the best in our language; 'Prejudice may be trusted to guard our hearts for a short space of time, while reason slumbers in the citadel; but if the latter sink into a lethargy, the former will quickly erect a standard for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and liberty support each other. He who will not reason is a bigot, he who cannot is a fool, he who does not is a slave.' Is not the passage admirable? how few could have written it." Yet, with all due submission to such high authority, we think that it is a passage more fit for an oration, than a work on metaphysics; that such figurative and declamatory language is ill suited to philosophical treatises, and that we should look in vain for such, in the works of Mackintosh, or Stewart, or D'Alembert: we fear that Lady Blessington is the only person who now employs herself in solving these "Academical Questions," and that Lord Byron's assertion, "that they are too good to be popular," will not be received as satisfactory by all. But to return. "His Odin is really a fine poem, and has some passages that are beautiful, but it is so little read, that it may be said to have dropped still-born from the press, a mortifying proof of the bad taste of the age. His Translation of Persius is not only very literal, but preserves much of the spirit of the original; a merit that, let me tell you, is very rare at present." We are sorry to differ from the noble Lord so much, as to conclude that this was another instance of his mystifying her Ladyship. Sir Wm. Drummond's Translation is a work of ability; but, so far from being a literal translation, it is the least literal of any we know. He fails, as has been well said, from his attempts to grind the fruges Cleantheas into vers de société. And Sir William himself owns that "his object was rather to express his author's meaning clearly, than to translate his words, or to copy his manner servilely. "I have generally followed the outline, but seldom ventured to employ the colouring of Persius." The merit of the work is to be found in its colouring, its spirit, its poetic feeling, and " a polish that," Gifford says, was seldom attained." His information to her Ladyship also, that Mr. Pope's Homer has more of the spirit of Homer than all the other translations put together, is scarcely less fortunate; nor do we very well know what he means by the other translations, unless he alludes to Chapman and Cowper, who both of them were better scholars than Pope, and have given better examples of the Homeric style and feeling. "Of the wits about town, I think that George Colman was one of the most agreeable. He was toujours prêt, and after two or three glasses of Champagne, the quicksilver of his wit mounted to beau fixe. Colman has a good deal of tact; he feels that convivial hours were meant for enjoyment, and understands society so well, that he never obtrudes any private feeling except hilarity into it; his jokes are all good, and readable, and flow without effort, like the champagne which gives them birth, sparkle after sparkle, and brilliant to the last. Then one is sure of Colman, which is a great comfort; for, to be made to cry, when one had made up one's mind to laugh, is a triste affair. I remember that this was the great drawback on Sheridan; a little wine made him melancholy; and his melancholy was contagious; for who could bear to see the wizard who could at will command smiles and tears, yield to the latter, without sharing them, though one wished that the exhibition had been less public. Poor Sherry! what a noble mind was in him, overthrown by poverty; and to see the men with whom he had passed his life, the dark souls whom his genius illumined, rolling in wealth, the Sybarites whose slumbers a crushed rose-leaf would have disturbed, leaving him to die on the pallet of poverty, his last moments disturbed by the myrmidons of the law. I have seen poor Sheridan weep, and good cause had he, placed by his transcendant talents in an elevated sphere, without the means of supporting the necessary appearance; to how many humiliations must his fine mind have submitted, ere he had arrived at the state in which I knew him, of reckless jokes to pacify creditors of a morning, and alternate smiles and tears of an evening, round the boards where ostentatious dullness called in his aid, to give a zest to the wine that often maddened him, but could not thaw the frozen current of their blood. Moore's Monody on Sheridan was a fine burst of generous indignation, and is one of the most powerful of his compositions.” We have now our old friend Mr. Galt once more on the tapis: Lord Blessington had got acquainted with him, in one of his mercantile speculations, (perhaps Mr. G. offered him a share in the Elgin marbles) and told Lord Byron much good of him. " I am pleased at finding him as amiable a man as his recent works prove him to be a clever and intelligent author. When I knew Galt years ago, I was not in a frame of mind to form an impartial opinion of him; his mildness and equanimity struck me even then; but to say the truth, his manner had not deference enough for my aristocratic taste, and, finding I could not awe him into respect sufficiently profound for my sublime self, either as a peer or an author, I felt a little grudge towards him that has never worn off. There is a quaint humour and observance of character in his novels that interest me very much; and when he chooses to be pathetic he fools one to his bent, for I assure you 'The Entail' beguiled me of some portion of watery humours, yclept tears, albeit unused to the melting mood. What I particularly admire in Galt's works is, that with a perfect knowledge of human nature, and its frailties and legerdemain tricks, he shews a tenderness of heart which convinces one that his is in the right place, and he has a sly caustic humour that is very amusing. All that Lord Blessington has been telling me of Galt, has made me reflect on the striking difference |