LORD BYRON ON RELIGION.

111

observations upon the existing portion, I ever met with anything so unostentatiously beautiful.* Indisputably, the firm believers in the Gospel have a great advantage over all others, for this simple reason, that, if true, they will have their reward hereafter; and if there be no hereafter, they can be but with the infidel in his eternal sleep, having had the assistance of an exalted hope, through life, without subsequent disappointment, since (at the worst for them) "out of nothing, nothing can arise," not even sorrow. But a man's creed does not depend upon himself: who can say, I will believe this, that, or the other? and least of all, that which he least can comprehend. I have, however, observed, that those who have begun life with extreme faith, have in the end greatly narrowed it, as Chillingworth, Clarke (who ended as an Arian), Bayle, and Gibbon (once a Catholic), and some others; while, on the other hand, nothing is more common than for the early sceptic to end in a firm belief, like Maupertuis, and Henry Kirke White.

But my business is to acknowledge your letter, and not to make a dissertation. I am obliged to you for your good wishes, and more than obliged by the extract from the papers of the beloved object whose qualities you have so well described in a few words. I can assure you that all the fame which ever cheated humanity into higher notions of its own importance would never weigh in my mind against the pure and pious interest which a virtuous being may be pleased to take in my welfare. In this point of view, I would not exchange the prayer of the deceased in my behalf for the united

* In the last hour of life, after a farewell look on a lately born and only infant, for whom she had evinced inexpressible affection, her last whispers were "God's happiness! God's happiness!"-Mr. Sheppard's Letter.

glory of Homer, Cæsar, and Napoleon, could such be accumulated upon a living head. Do me at least the justice to suppose, that

'Video meliora proboque,'

however the "deteriora sequor " may have been applied to my conduct.

P.S.-I do not know that I am addressing a clergyman, but I presume that you will not be affronted by the mistake (if it is one) on the address of this letter. One who has so well explained, and deeply felt, the doctrines of religion, will excuse the error which led me to believe him its minister.*

LORD BYRON'S PREFERENCE OF DOERS OVER WRITERS.

Sharpe (a man of elegant mind, and who has lived much with the best-Fox, Horne Tooke, Windham, Fitzpatrick, and all the agitators of other times and tongues,) told us the particulars of his last interview with Windham, a few days before the fatal operation which sent "that gallant spirit to aspire the skies." Windham, the first in one department of oratory and talent, whose only fault was his refinement beyond the intellect of half his hearers,-Windham, half his life an active participator in the events of the earth, and one of those who governed nations,-he regretted,-and dwelt much on that regret, that "he had not entirely devoted himself to literature and science !!!" His mind certainly would have carried him to eminence there, as elsewhere;—but I cannot comprehend what debility of that mind could suggest such a wish. I,

* Mr. Sheppard, though a very learned divine, was not a clergyman.

LORD BYRON AND THE EDINBURGH BIBLIOPOLE. 113

who have heard him, cannot regret anything but that I shall never hear him again. What! would he have been a plodder? a metaphysician ?—perhaps a rhymer? a scribbler? Such an exchange must have been suggested by illness. But he is gone, and Time "shall not look upon his like again." I do think the preference of writers to agents-the mighty stir made about scribbling and scribes, by themselves and others—a sign of effeminacy, degeneracy and weakness. Who would write, who had anything better to do? "Action -action - action "—said Demosthenes : "Actionsactions," I say, and not writing,-least of all, rhyme. Look at the querulous and monotonous lives of the genus; "-except Cervantes, Tasso, Dante, Ariosto, Kleist (who were brave and active citizens), Eschylus, Sophocles, and some other of the antiques also-what a worthless, idle brood it is !-Diary, Nov. 24, 1813.

LORD BYRON AND THE EDINBURGH BIBLIOPOLE.

Murray has had a letter from his brother bibliopole of Edinburgh, who says "he is lucky in having such a poet"—something as if one was a pack-horse, or "ass, or anything that is his : or, like Mrs. Packwood, who replied to some inquiry after the Odes on Razors,— "Law, sir, we keeps a poet." The same illustrious Edinburgh bookseller once sent an order for books, poesy, and cookery, with this agreeable postscript"The Harold and Cookery are much wanted." Such is fame, and, after all, quite as good as any other "life in others' breath." "Tis much the same to divide purchasers with Hannah Glasse or Hannah More.-Diary, Dec. 13 1813.

VOL I.

I

VANITY OF FAME.

11

66

One of the Ferrarese asked me if I knew "Lord Byron," an acquaintance of his, now at Naples. I told him "No!" which was true both ways; for I knew not the impostor, and in the other, no one knows himself. He stared when told that I was the real Simon Pure." Another asked me if I had not translated "Tasso." You see what fame is! how accurate! how boundless! I don't know how others feel, but I am always the lighter and the better looked on when I have got rid of mine; it sits on me like armour on the Lord Mayor's champion; and I got rid of all the husk of literature, and the attendant babble, by answering, that I had not translated Tasso, but a namesake had; and by the blessing of Heaven, I looked so little like a poet, that everybody believed me.-Bologna, June 6, 1819.

I was out of spirits-read the papers-thought what fame was, on reading, in a case of murder, that "Mr. Wych, grocer, at Tunbridge, sold some bacon, flour, cheese, and, it is believed, some plums, to some gypsy woman accused. He had on his counter (I quote faithfully) a book, the Life of Pamela, which he was tearing for waste paper, &c. &c. In the cheese was found, &c., and a leaf of Pamela wrapt round the bacon." What would Richardson, the vainest and luckiest of living authors (i.e. while alive)-he who, with Aaron Hill, used to prophesy and chuckle over the presumed fall of Fielding (the prose Homer of human nature) and of Pope (the most beautiful of poets)—what would he have said, could he have traced his pages from their place on the French prince's toilets (see Boswell's Johnson) to the grocer's counter and the gipsymurderess's bacon!!!

What would he have said? what can anybody say, save what Solomon said long before us? After all, it is but passing from one counter to another, from the bookseller's to the other tradesman's-grocer or pastrycook. For my part, I have met with most poetry upon trunks; so that I am apt to consider the trunk-maker as the sexton of authorship.-Diary, Jan. 4, 1821.

SHELLEY.

The story of Shelley's agitation is true. I can't tell what seized him, for he don't want courage. He was once with me in a gale of wind in a small boat, right under the rocks between Meillerie and St. Gingo. We were five in the boat-a servant, two boatmen, and ourselves. The sail was mismanaged, and the boat was filling fast. He can't swim. I stripped off my coat, made him strip off his, and take hold of an oar, telling him that I thought (being myself an expert swimmer) I could save him, if he would not struggle when I took hold of him-unless we got smashed against the rocks, which were high and sharp, with an awkward surf on them at that minute. We were then about a hundred yards from shore, and the boat in peril. He answered me with the greatest coolness, "that he had no notion of being saved, and that I would have enough to do to save myself, and begged not to trouble me." Luckily the boat righted, and by baling, we got round a point into St. Gingo where the inhabitants came down and embraced the boatmen on their escape, the wind having been high enough to tear up some huge trees from the Alps above us, as we saw next day.