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greater part, was composed (as The Prisoner of Chillon') in the prison. The place of Dante's fifteen years' exile, where he so pathetically prayed for his country, and deprecated the thought of being buried out of it; and the sight of his tomb, which I passed in my almost daily rides,-inspired me. Besides, there was somewhat of resemblance in our destinies-he had a wife, and I have the same feelings about leaving my bones in a strange land."

It is curious to observe how willing the noble author was to receive countenance for his faults from our greater poets, yet how slow to afford them his in return. The Note-taker thus relates a conversation which took place between him and his idol.

I asked Lord Byron the meaning of a passage in The Prophecy of Dante.' He laughed, and said:

"I suppose I had some meaning when I wrote it: I believe I understood it then." "That," said I, "is what the disciples of Swedenborg say. There are many peo ple who do not understand passages in your writings, among our own countrymen : I wonder how foreigners contrive to translate them."

"And yet," said he, "they have been translated into all the civilized, and many uncivilized tongues. Several of them have appeared in Danish, Polish, and even Russian dresses. These last, being transla

tions of translations from the French, must be very diluted. The greatest compliment ever paid me has been shown in Germany, where a translation of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold' has been the subject of

a University prize. But as to obscurity, is not Milton obscure? How do you explain

"Smoothing "The raven down of darkness till it smiled!'

Is it not a simile taken from the electricity of a cat's back? I'll leave you to be my commentator, and hope you will make better work with me than Taafe is doing with Dante, who perhaps could not himself explain half that volumes are written about, if his ghost were to rise again from the dead. I am sure I wonder he and Shakspeare have not been raised by their commentators long ago!"

The distinction between Byronian and Miltonian obscurity is this; that the former results, when not from indolence, from an illogical mind; the other, when not from pedantry, from an extravagant imagination. Byron often attempts to express ideas which are above his power of expression; Milton often attempts to express ideas

which are above all power of expression.

One would have thought that he spoke in a kind of prophetic allusion to the fate of his own remains when he uttered these sentiments:

"Of all the disgraces that attach to England in the eye of foreigners, who admire Pope more than any of our poets, (though it is the fashion to under-rate him that there should be no place assigned to among ourselves,) the greatest perhaps is, him in Poet's Corner. I have often thought of erecting a monument to him at my own expence, in Westminster Abbey; and hope to do so yet. But he was a Catholic, and, what was worse, puzzled Tillotson and the Divines. That accounts for his not having any national monument. Milton, too, the mention of his name on the tomb of had very nearly been without a stone; and another was at one time considered a profanation to a church. The French, I am told, lock up Voltaire's tomb. Will there never be an end to this bigotry? Will men never learn that every great poet is necessarily a religious man?-so at least Coleridge says."

"Yes," replied Shelley; " and he truly religious man is a poet; meaning might maintain the converse,-that every by poetry the power of communicating intense and impassioned impressions respecting man and Nature.”

Shelley himself (if not Lord Byron) refutes Coleridge; and every pious Dr. Drowsy in the kingdom refutes Shelley.

Lord Byron's opinion of his great cotemporary and rival in public favour, Sir Walter Scott, was honourable to both. He says of him:

"He spoiled the fame of his poetry by his superior prose. He has such extent and versatility of powers in writing, that, should his Novels ever tire the public, which is not likely, he will apply himself to something else, and succeed as well.

"His mottoes from old plays prove that he, at all events, possesses the dramatic faculty, which is denied me. And yet I am told that his Halidon Hill' did not justify expectation. I have never met with it, but have seen extracts from it."

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Upon being asked if he thought the Novels owed any part of their reputation to the concealment of the author's name, he made the following reply, containing desultory remarks upon their author, and affording a good specimen of his conversational and critical powers:

"No," said he; "such works do not

gain or lose by it. I am at a loss to know his reason for keeping up the incognito, -but that the reigning family could not have been very well pleased with Waverley.' There is a degree of charlatanism in some authors keeping up the Unknown. Junius owed much of his fame to that trick; and now that it is known to be the work of Sir Philip Francis, who reads it? A political writer, and one who descends to personalities such as disgrace Junius, should be immaculate as a public, as well as a private, character; and Sir Philip Francis was neither. He had his price, and was gagged by being sent to India. He there seduced another man's wife. It would have been a new case for a Judge to sit in judgment on himself, in a CrimCon. It seems that his conjugal felicity was not great, for, when his wife died, he came into the room where they were sitting up with the corpse, and said Solder her up, solder her up!' He saw his daughter crying, and scolded her, saying, old hag-she ought to have died thirty years ago! He married shortly after a young woman. He hated Hastings to a violent degree; all he hoped and prayed for was to outlive him.—But many of the newspapers of the day are written as well as Junius. Matthias's book, The Pursuits of Literature,' now almost a deadletter, had once a great fame.

An

"When Walter Scott began to write poetry, which was not at a very early age, Monk Lewis corrected his verse: he under

stood little then of the mechanical part of the art. The Fire King in The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,' was almost all Lewis's. One of the ballads in that work, and, except some of Leyden's, perhaps one of the best, was made from a story picked up in a stage-coach;—I mean that of Will Jones.'

C They boil'd Will Jones within the pot, And not much fat had Will.' "I hope Walter Scott did not write the review on Christabel;' for he certainly, in common with many of us, is indebted to Coleridge. But for him, perhaps, The Lay of the Last Minstrel' would never have been thought of. The line

'Jesu Maria shield thee well!' is word for word from Christabel."

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"Of all the writers of the day, Walter Scott is the least jealous: he is too confident of his own fame to dread the rivalry of others. He does not think of good writing, as the Tuscans do of fever, that there is only a certain quantity of it in the world."

In speaking of Goëthe's Faust and the pretensions of the author to originality, he observes that "the prologue is from Job, which is the first drama in the world, and perhaps the

oldest poem. I had an idea of writing
a Job,' but I found it too sublime.
with it.'
There is no poetry to be compared

The Book of Job can borrow no glory from Lord Byron's commendation of it, but the commendation bestows glory upon him.

He also appears to have estimated his own character not inaccurately or unfairly:

the politics at home. I am not made for "I take little interest," replied he, "in what you call a politician, and should have taken no part in the petty intrigues never have adhered to any party. I should of cabinets, or the pettier factions and conAmong our statesmen, Castlereagh is altests for power among parliamentary men. the only public character whom I thomost the only one whom I have attacked; roughly detest, and against whom I will never cease to level the shafts of my political hate.

"I only addressed the House twice, and made little impression. They told me fied enough for the Lords, but was more that my manner of speaking was not dignicalculated for the Commons. I believe it was a Don Juan kind of speech. and (I think he said) some Manchester two occasions were, the Catholic question, affair.

The

"Perhaps, if I had never travelled,never left my own country young,-my They extend to the good of mankind in views would have been more limited. general of the world at large. Perhaps Spain-the tyranny of the Turks in Greece the prostrate situation of Portugal and -the oppression of the Austrian Government at Venice-the mental debasement of the Papal States, (not to mention Ireland,) berty. -tended to inspire me with a love of li

No Italian could have rejoiced more than I, to have seen a Constitution established on this side the Alps. I felt for Romagna as if she had been my own country, and would have risked my life and fortune for her, as I may yet for the Greeks. I am become a citizen of the world. There is no man I envy so much as Lord Cochrane. His entrance into Lima, which I see announced in to-day's paper, is one of the great events of the day. Mavrocor-. also worthy of the best times of Greece, dato, too, (whom you know so well,) is. Patriotism and virtue are not quite extinct."

In aid of our attempt to illustrate Byron from his Conversations, we the genius and character of Lord shall subjoin a passage concerning him out of another work lately published, together with a few of his letters. The passage is to be found

in Captain Stanhope's "Greece," p. 96, and is highly characteristic of the impetuous, overbearing, variable, yet noble disposition of Byron.

Lord Byron conducted the business in behalf of the Captain. In the evening he conversed with me on the subject. I said the affair was conducted in a bullying manner, and not according to the principles of equity and the law of nations. His Lordship started into a passion. He contended, that law, justice, and equity, had nothing to do with politics. That may be ; but I will never lend myself to injustice. His Lordship then began, according to custom, to attack Mr. Bentham. I said, that it was highly illiberal to make personal attacks on Mr. Bentham before a friend who held him in high estimation. He said, that he only attacked his public principles, which were mere theories, but dangerous;-injurious to Spain, and calculated to do great mischief in Greece. I did not object to his Lordship's attacking Mr. B.'s principles; what I objected to were his personalities. His Lordship never reasoned on any of Mr. B.'s writings, but merely made sport of them. I would, therefore, ask him what it was that he objected to. Lord Byron mentioned his Panopticon as visionary. I said that experience in Pennsylvania, at Millbank, &c. had proved it otherwise. I said that Bentham had a truly British heart; but that Lord Byron, after professing liberal principles from his boyhood, had, when called upon to act, proved himself a Turk.Lord Byron asked, what proofs have you of this?--Your conduct in endeavouring to crush the press, by declaiming against it to Mavrocordato, and your general abuse of liberal principles.-Lord Byron said, that if he had held up his finger he could have crushed the press.-I replied, with all this power, which, by the way, you never possessed, you went to the Prince and poisoned his ear.-Lord Byron declaimed against the liberals whom he knew. But what liberals? I asked; did he borrow his notions of free-men from the Italians?-Lord Byron. No; from the Hunts, Cartwrights, &c.-And still, said I, you presented Cartwright's Reform Bill, and aided Hunt by praising his poetry and giving him the sale of your works.-Lord Byron exclaimed, you are worse than Wilson, and should quit the army.-I replied, I am a mere soldier, but never will I abandon my principles. Our principles are diametrically opposite, so let us avoid the subject. If Lord Byron acts up to his professions, he will be the greatest;-if not, the meanest of mankind. He said he hoped his character did not depend on my assertions-No, said I, your genius has immortalized you. The worst could not deprive you of fame.

Lord Byron. Well; you shall see : judge me by my acts. When he wished me good night, I took up the light to conduct him to the passage, but he said, What! hold up a light to a Turk!

The letters also display much native vigour of mind and magnanimity of temper, which a whole life of dissipation could not permanently unnerve or break down:

SIR,

Genoa, May 29, 1823.

At present, that I know to whom I am indebted for a very flattering mention in the "Rome, Naples, and Florence in 1817, by Mons. Stendhal," it is fit that I should return my thanks (however undesired or undesirable) to Mons. Beyle, with whom I had the honour of being acquainted at Milan in 1816. You only did me too much honour in what you were pleased to say in that work; but it has hardly given me less pleasure than the praise itself, to become at length aware (which I have done by mere accident) that I am indebted for it to one of whose good opinion I was really ambitious. So many changes have taken place since that period in the Milan circle, that I hardly dare recur to it ;-some dead, some banished, and some in the Austrian dungeons.-Poor Pellico! I trust that, in his iron solitude, his Muse is consoling him in part one day to delight us again, when both she and her Poet are restored to freedom.

Of your works I have only seen "Rome" &c., the Lives of Haydn and Mozart, and the brochure on Racine and Shakspeare. The "Histoire de la Peinture" I have not yet the good fortune to possess.

There is one part of your observations in the pamphlet which I shall venture to remark upon;-it regards Walter Scott. You say that "his character is little worthy of enthusiasm," at the same time that you mention his productions in the manner they deserve. I have known Walter Scott long and well, and in occasional situations which call forth the real character

and I can assure you that his character is worthy of admiration-that of all men he is the most open, the most honourable, the most amiable. With his politics I have nothing to do: they differ from mine, which renders it difficult for me to speak of them. But he is perfectly sincere in them; and Sincerity may be humble, but she cannot be servile. I pray you, therefore, to correct or soften that passage. You may, perhaps, attribute this officiousness of mine to a false affectation of candour, as I happen to be a writer also. Attribute it to what motive you please, but believe the truth. I say that Walter Scott is as nearly a thorough good man as can be, because I know it by experience to be the case.

If you do me the honour of an answer, may I request a speedy one?-because it is possible (though not yet decided) that circumstances may conduct me once more to Greece. My present address is Genoa, where an answer will reach me in a short time, or be forwarded to me wherever I may be.

I beg you to believe me, with a lively recollection of our brief acquaintance, and the hope of one day renewing it, Your ever obliged

And obedient humble servant,
NOEL BYRON.

(Signed)

Translation.

Cephalonia, 2d December, 1823.

Prince,

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 for 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 re-conquer her liberty, or 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 Wallachia and the Crimea, she may obtain it to-morrow; if 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 due 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; 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.

From Lord Byron to Colonel Stanhope.

Scrofer, or some such name, on board a Cephaloniote Mistice, Dec. 31st, 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 her stern, and hailed, but we would not answer and bore away,) as well as this morning. Here we are, with 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, and a body of Suliots, 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 our 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. Yours, &c.

N. B.

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

As might be expected, the Conversations of Lord Byron, however limited in their present scope, give the lie to many slanderous reports which we know no reason why Lord Byron's have long been afloat in society; and word should not be held as good as that of his enemies. Until we find more cause to doubt his veracity than theirs, we shall, therefore, from

henceforward persist in disbelieving every thing that he has peremptorily disavowed: that he introduced Mrs. Mardyn to his wife's dinner-table, as that he patronised the Manichæan heresy; that he told Lady Byron he married her for spite, as that he wrote the "Verses to Thyrza" on his bear. Combining our previous knowledge of Lord Byron with the information afforded by this volume of his Conversations, we have little difficulty in coming to what we believe is a fair estimate of his character. As to mind, our opinion is,-that he was either the last of the first class, or the first of the second class of poets. As to morals, that he would have been a very bad man but for some great redeeming virtues, a very good man but for some predominant vices. That his genius was glorious to his country is beyond doubt; that it was injurious is equally certain. He who balances the profit accruing from its influence on our literature against the loss proceeding from its effect on our morals, will find it hard to determine whether Byron should have lived another age, or not have lived at all.

It remains to speak of the manner in which the Conversations of Lord Byron have been got up for publication. No terms of reprehension are strong enough to express our sense of the impropriety, the indelicacy, and the injudiciousness, of the work in its present form. The very Publisher apologizes for it. He attempts an excuse by saying that he only reprints objectionable

passages which had already appeared; which is no more valid than if Clarence were to say that he was guiltless of stabbing Prince Edward because Gloucester had stabbed him before. It amounts exactly to this,

that he knew he was doing wrong, and nevertheless did it. After such an unreserved exposure of private conversation, what security has any man that he, his family, or his friends may not be dragged in the same manner before the eye of a censorious public, and the secrets of his fireside proclaimed in every quarter of the kingdom? Or must he annex a permission or injunction to the end of every sentence he utters, such as,"that may be repeated," "that may not?" Every great man henceforward will suspect his friend for a Note-taker; confidence will be destroyed, the freedom of social converse will be annihilated. We can conceive a man's idolatry for his Magnus Apollo leading him to "take notes " of the God's table-talk and parlour chit-chat, however insipid it may be, though it is a species of piety for which we have no very exalted respect; but we cannot conceive how any one could publish such a compilation, without first suppressing every thing of a scandalous or disgraceful nature. If such injudicious and indecent disclosures are not prohibited by a general condemnation of the practice, that great bond of society,-mutual confidence, will be rent asunder, and suspiciousness become, instead of a mean vice, a necessary virtue.

MY HARP.

FROM HOELTY.

My friends! when I am dead and gone,
Let my harp be laid by the altar-stone;
Under the wall, with dead-wreaths hung
Of maidens who died so fair and young.
The traveller oft at eve shall stand
Το gaze on that harp with the rosy band;
The rosy band o'er the small harp flung,
That flutters the golden chords among.
Those chords shall pour low melodies,
Self-utter'd, soft as the hum of bees:

The children, allured from their sports around,

Shall mark how the dead-wreaths stir at the sound.

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