practised upon us, mingles with the nobler pain arising from the contemplation of perverted and degraded genius-to make us wish that no such being as Byron ever had existed. It is indeed a sad and an humiliating thing to know, that in the same year there proceeded from the same pen two productions, in all things so different, as the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold and this loathsome Don Juan. Lady Byron, however, has one consolation still remaining, and yet we fear she will think it but a poor one. She shares the scornful satire of her husband, not only with all that is good, and pure, and high, in human nature, its principles and its feelings; but with every individual also, in whose character the predominance of these blessed elements has been sufficient to excite the envy, or exacerbate the despair of this guilty man. We shall not needlessly widen the wound by detailing its cruelty; we have mentioned one, and, all will admit, the worst instance of the private malignity which has been embodied in so many passa part of our readers. As it is out of the Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow: Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette, Moreau, With many of the military set, Exceedingly remarkable at times, "Nelson was once Britannia's god of war, And still should be so, but the tide is turned; There's no more to be said of Trafalgar, "Young Juan now was sixteen years of age, And every body but his mother deem'd And bit her lips (for else she might have scream'd), "Amongst her numerous acquaintance, all As sweetness to the flower, or salt to ocean, (But this last simile is trite and stupid.) "The darkness of her oriental eye Accorded with her Moorish origin; (Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by: In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin.) ges of Don Juan; and we are quite Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious. The mode in which we have now expressed ourselves, might be a sufficient apology for making no extracts from this poem itself. But our indignation, in regard to the morality of the poem, has not blinded us to its manifold beauties; and we are the more willing to quote a few of the passages which can be read without a blush, because the comparative rarity of such passages will, in all probability, operate to the complete exclusion of the work itself, from the libraries of the greater VOL. V. Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia's kin At such alliances his sires would frown, That they bred in and in, as might be shown, Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh; Produced her Don more heirs at love than law. Improving still through every generation, Who left an only daughter; my narration Could be but Julia (whom on this occasion Was married, charming, chaste, and twenty-three. "Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes) 3 U "And if she met him, though she smiled no more, Even innocence itself has many a wile, Its workings through the vainly guarded eye, And in whatever aspect it arrays Itself, 'tis still the same hypocrisy; Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate, Are masks it often wears, and still too late. "Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression, And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft, And burning blashes, though for no transgression, Tremblings when met, and restlessness when left." Speaking of moonlight, he says: "There is a dangerous silence in that hour, A stillness, which leaves room for the full soul To open all itself, without the power Of calling wholly back its self-control; The silver light which, hallowing tree and tower, Sheds beauty and deep softness o'er the whole, Breathes also to the heart, and o'er it throws A loving languor, which is not repose." "Tis sweet to hear At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep The song and oar of Adria's gondolier, By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep; 'Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; 'Tis sweet to listen as the nightwinds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. ""Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come; 'Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark, Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, The lisp of children, and their earliest words. "Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes In Bacchanal profusion reel to earth Purple and gushing: sweet are our escapes From civic revelry to rural mirth; Sweet to the miser are his glittering heaps, Sweet to the father is his first-born's birth, Sweet is revenge-especially to women, Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. "Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet The unexpected death of some old lady Or gentleman of seventy years complete, And life yields nothing further to recall The conclusion of the history of this passion is, that Don Juan is detected in the lady's chamber at midnight by her husband. Thinking her lover effectually concealed, Donna Julia rates her Lord in a style of volubility in which, it must be granted, there is abundance of the true vis comica.The detection which follows almost immediately after the conclusion of the speech, gives much additional absurdity to the amazing confidence of the lady. "During this inquisition Julia's tongue Was not asleep- Yes, search and search,' she cried, Insult on insult heap, and wrong on wrong! A husband like Alfonso at my side; Is't wise or fitting causeless to explore For facts against a virtuous woman's fame? I yet have chosen from out the youth of Seville? Is it for this I scarce went any where, Except to bull-fights, mass, play, rout, and revel? Is it for this, whate'er my suitors were, I favour'd none-nay, was almost uncivil? Sing at my heart six months at least in vain? Call me the only virtuous wife in Spain? Were there not also Russians, English, many? The Count Strongstroganoff I put in pain, And Lord Mount Coffeehouse, the Irish peer, Who kill'd himself for love (with wine) last year. "Have I not had two bishops at my feet? The Duke of Ichar, and Don Fernan Nunez, I wonder in what quarter now the moon is: Who've made us youth" wait too-too long Oh, valiant men! with sword drawn and cock'd already For an estate, or cash, or country-seat, Still breaking, but with stamina so steady, That all the Israelites are fit to mob its Next owner for their double-damn'd post-obits. ""Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels Dear is the helpless creature we defend The tree of knowledge has been pluck'd-all's known trigger, Now, tell me, don't you cut a pretty figure? "Was it for this you took your sudden journey, Under pretence of business indispensible With that sublime of rascals your attorney, I would not you for nothing should be feedBut, as my maid's undrest, pray tum your spies out." "Oh!' sobb'd Antonia, I could tear their eyes out."" "There is the closet, there the toilet, there The anti-chamber-search them under, over; There is the sofa, there the great arm-chair, The chimney-which would really hold a lover. And make no further noise, till you discover Who is the man you search for? how d'ye call At that age he would be too old for slaughter, (Antonía! let me have a glass of water.) I am ashamed of having shied these tears, They are unworthy of my father's daughter; You saw that she was sleeping by my side hide; Only another time, I trust, you'll tell us, "Twill one day ask you why you used me so? Waved and o'ershading her wan cheek, appears In consequence of this intrigue, Don Juan is sent on his travels; and the lady, who is shut up in a convent, takes leave of him in a beautiful letter, of which this is a part. "Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, "Tis woman's whole existence; man may range And few there are whom these can not estrange; My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core; The passion which still rages as before, To all, except one image, madly blind; My misery can scarce be more complete: "This note was written upon gilt-edged paper The seal a sunflower; Elle vous suit partout,' Perhaps there are not a few women "Alas! the love of women! it is known To be a lovely and a fearful thing; And their revenge is as the tiger's spring, Buys them in marriage-and what rests beyond ? Theirs being an unnatural situation, The amour with this Spanish lady for Lord Byron to have kept it free from any stain of pollution! What cruel barbarity, in creating so much of beauty only to mar and ruin it! This is really the very suicide of gcnius. "Then was the cordial pour'd, and mantle flung Around his scarce-clad limbs; and the fair arm Young, yet her elder, and of brow less grave, That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair, They nearly reach'd her heel; and in her air Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes Were black as death, their lashes the same hue, Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew; (A race of mere impostors, when all's doneI've seen much finer women, ripe and real, Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal.) I'll tell you why I say so, for 'tis just One should not rail without a decent cause: There was an Irish lady, to whose bust I ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was A frequent model; and if e'er she must Yield to stem Time and Nature's wrinkling laws They will destroy a face which mortal thought Ne'er compass'd, nor less mortal chisel wrought. And such was she, the lady of the cave: Her dress was very different from the Spanish, For, as you know, the Spanish women banish But with our damsel this was not the case: Flow'd in her veil, and many a precious stone Thought daily service was her only mission, "It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded With one star sparkling through it like an eye. "Haidee was Nature's bride, and knew not this: Who was her chosen: what was said or done Elsewhere was nothing-she had nought to fear, Hope, care, nor love beyond, her heart beat here. "And now 'twas done-on the lone shore were plighted Their hearts; the stars, their nuptial torches, shed Beauty upon the beautiful they lighted: Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed, But the best and the worst part of the whole is without doubt the description of the shipwreck. As a piece of terrible painting, it is as much superior as can be to every description of the kind-not even excepting that in the Eneid-that ever was created. In comparison with the fearful and intense reality of its horrors, every thing that any former poet had thrown together to depict the agonies of that awful scene, appears chill and tame. "Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell, And down she sucked with her the whirling wave- Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry But even here the demon of his depravity does not desert him. We dare not stain our pages with quoting any specimens of the disgusting merriment with which he has interspersed "And thus they wander'd forth and hand in hand, his picture of human suffering. Over the shining pebbles and the shells, Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it were plann'd He paints it well, only to shew that he EMIGRATION TO THE CAPE OF GOOD hope. We shall not here enter at large upon the question, whether the superabundant population of this country may be employed on the waste lands, as proposed by Alderman Wood, or subsisted in villages, as attempted to be practised by Mr Owen. We cannot however help thinking and saying, that somewhat more is required to compose human happiness than bare existence, whether that existence arise from the enclosure and cultivation of fens and mountains, or from pauper and extra-parochial republics. It is useless to lay down maxims, that will be slighted by those whose wants are pressing and immediate. Poverty has neither time nor temper to reason upon remote advantages. Doubtless, plans may be proposed which, with wisdom and economy, might ultimately support the surplus population of Great Britain; but while so much distress prevails, and emigration has become the passion of our restless and dissatisfied poor, it behoves the practical philanthropist, while he pities the one, to convert the other to the best advantage. The evil of mendicity exists to an unquestionable and alarming extent; and we have seen with what avidity adventurers have left their native shores for the wilds of America. It is too late in the day, to talk of giving to each individual his acre of land. The growth of trade and wealth forbids such Utopian divisions. Extent, or, if you please, monopoly of property, is the natural consequence of commerce and civilization, and the few rich must make the many poor. The poor, however, will increase in numbers, if not in wealth, and swarms of the enterprizing indigent are ever found ready, in over-grown countries, to exchange the certainty of want at home for the chance of abundance abroad. We need scarcely appeal to history in attestation of these truths. We would not be understood to discourage the efforts of philanthropy, to retain and employ the poor in their own country. Every possible exertion should be made to alleviate their wants and stimulate their industry. To this we are urged no less by moral than political duty. Idleness is the mother of want, and the nurse of vice and sedition. An unemployed and licentious VOL. V. poor is the deadliest cancer of a state. But to our subject. The Chancellor of the Exchequer has submitted to Parliament the expediency of voting £50,000 towards the encouragement of emigration to the Cape of Good Hope. Let it be remembered, once for all, that it is not because that colony is too thin of inhabitants, but that the mother country is too full, this plan is suggested. The question is not, how you may maintain a surplus peasantry in the land that gave them birth, but, whether you will stop emigration to the frozen shores of Canada, and to the United States, or divert and encourage it to the finest colony in the world. We surely have learnt enough of North America to convince us of the degraded and miserable condition of its people. South Africa, on the other hand, has every advantage to repay the sacrifice of quitting the land of our forefathers. The more fully to understand and appreciate these advantages, we shall set before our readers a short view of the condition and facilities of the colony in question. The spring, from September to December, is the most agreeable season. The summer, from December to March, is often intensely hot. The autumn, from March to June, is generally fine and pleasant. The winter is rainy and stormy, and for the most part so cold as to make fires very comfortable during the months of July, August, and September. Most of the diseases that appear amongst the natives proceed rather from their gross and indolent mode of living, than the unhealthiness of the climate. The scarcity of water in summer is unfavourable to cultivation; and for want of industry or materials this defect is not remedied, as it is in India, by artificial tanks or reservoirs. Where, however, irrigation can be employed, either from wells or rivers, the most abundant vegetation ensues. Good and abundant water has always been found by digging wells in Cape Town and the vicinity. In the whole colony there is scarcely a river that can be called navigable. Though swollen into torrents during the winter, most of them dry up during the summer. 3 X |