shall be somewhat briefer than we intended, and we shall now proceed at once to make a few selections from the book without any regard to the order in which they may appear. It is not generally known that before the publication of his "Hours of Idleness," Lord Byron had printed "at the request of his friends," a sraall collection of his poems, and it was the favor this met with in his own private circle that encouraged him to venture on a more extensive sphere. His "Hours of Idleness," was noticed on its first appearance with considerable praise in two or three obscure periodicals. Their insignificance however was not then apparent to his Lordship, who seems like all young authors to have been delighted with admiration from any quarter. The following is an extract from one of his letters written at this period TO MISS "August 2d, 1807. "London begins to disgorge its contents-town is empty-consequently I can scribble at leisure, as occupations are less numerous. In a fortnight I shall depart to fulfil a country engagement; but expect 2 epistles from you previous to that pe riod. Ridge does not proceed rapidly in Notts-very possible. In town things wear a more promising aspect, and a man whose works are praised by reviewers, admired by duchesses, and sold by every bookseller of the metropolis, does not dedicate much consideration to rustic readers. I have now a review before me, entitled Li terary Recreations,' where my bardship is applauded far beyond my deserts. I know nothing of the critic, but think him a very discerning gentleman, and myself a devilish clever fellow. Ilis critique pleases me particularly, because it is of great length, and a proper quantum of censure is administered, just to give an agreeable relish to the praise. You know I hate insipid, unqualified, common-place compli ment. If you would wish to see it, order the 13th Number of Literary Recrea tions' for the last month. I assure you I have not the most distant idea of the writer of the article-it is printed in a periodical publication-and though I have written a paper (a review of Wordsworth,) which appears in the same work, I am ignorant of every other person concerned in it-even the editor, whose name I have not heard. My cousin, Lord Alexander Gordon, who resided in the same hotel, told me his mother, her Grace of Gordon, requested he would introduce my Poetical Lordship to her Highness, as she had bought my volume, admired it exceedingly in common with the rest of the fashionable world, and wished to claim her relationship with the author. I was unluckily engaged on an excursion for some days afterwards, and as the duchess was on the eve of departing for Scotland, I have postponed my introduction till the winter, when I shall favour the lady, whose taste I shall not dispute, with my most sublime and edifying conversation. She is now in the Highlands, and Alexander took his departure a few days ago, for the same blessed seat of dark rolling winds.' Crosby, my London publisher, has disposed of his second importation, and has sent to Ridge for a third-at least so he says. In every bookseller's window I see my own name and say nothing, but enjoy my fame in secret. My last reviewer kindly requests me to alter my determination of writing no more, and a Friend to the Cause of Literature' begs I will gratify the public with some new work at no very distant périod. Who would not be a bard ?-that is to say, if all critics would bə so polite. However, the others will pay me off, I doubt not, for this gentle encou ragement. If so, have at 'em! By the by, I have written at my intervals of leisure, after 2 in the morning, 380 lines in blank verse, of Bosworth Field. I have luckily got Hutton's account. I shall extend the Poem to 8 or 10 books, and shall have finished it in a year. Whether it will be published or not must depend on circumstances. So much for egotism! My laurels have turned my brain, but the cooling acids of forthcoming criticisms will probably restore me to modesty.” Notwithstanding this boyish exultation, his Lordship seems to have had a shrewd suspicion that a castigation was awaiting him, and to have been half prepared for the cutting irony of the Edinburgh Review. It is a curious fact, and now made known we believe for the first time that the poem of the English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, was written before the appearance of the critique, and that its title and the attack on the Reviewers, were an after-thought. It originally consisted of 380 lines, and was increased to its present length by the introduction of the satire on Jeffrey and others. In the course of a month or two after the publication of his juvenile work, some friend informed him that he had seen the proofs of a severe criticism upon it in the forthcoming Edinburgh Review. On the receipt of this information he wrote in the following style to his friend Mr. Becher. "MY DEAR BECHER, TO MR. BECHER. "Dorant's Hotel, Feb. 26, 1808. Now for Apollo. I am happy that you still retain your predilection, and that the public allow me some share of praise. I am of so much importance that a most violent attack is preparing for me in the next number of the Edinburgh Review. This I had from the authority of a friend who has seen the proof and manuscript of the critique. You know the system of the Edinburgh gentlemen is universal attack. They praise none; and neither the public nor the author expects praise from them. It is, however, something to be noticed, as they profess to pass judgment only on works requiring the public attention. You will see this, when it comes out; it is, I understand, of the most unmerciful description; but I am aware of it, and hope you will not be hurt by its severity. Tell Mrs. Byron not to be out of humour with them, and to prepare her mind for the greatest hostility on their part. It will do no injury whatever, and I trust her mind will not be ruffled. They defeat their object by indiscriminate abuse, and they never praise except the partizans of Lord Holland and Co. It is nothing to be abused when Southey, Moore, Lauderdale, Strangford, and Payne Knight, share the game fate, &c. &c.", "Soon after this letter," says Moore, "appeared the dreaded article, an article which if not witty in itself was the cause of wit in others. Seldom indeed has it fallen to the lot of the justest criticism to attain celebrity such as injustice has procured for this, nor while the short but glorious race of Byron's genius is remembered, can the critic whoever he may be, that so unintentionally administered to its start, be forgotten." Mr. Moore does not attempt to say who this critic was, nor does he make the most distent allusion to the general opinion that it was his friend Jeffrey. Jeffrey however, we believe, has denied the authorship of this notorious production, which has thrown a degree of ridicule and disgrace on periodical criticism. The effect it produced upon the Poet is thus noticed We have seen with what feverish anxiety he awaited the verdicts of all the minor Reviews, and, from his sensibility to the praise of the meanest of these censors, may guess how painfully he must have writhed under the sneers of the highest. A friend, who found him in the first moment of excitement after reading the article, inquired anxiously, whether he had just received a challenge?-not knowing how else to account for the fierce defiance of his look. It would, indeed, be difficult for sculptor or painter to imagine a subject of more fearful beauty, than the fine countenance of the young poet must have exhibited in the collected energy of that crisis. His pride had been wounded to the quick, and his ambition humbled:-but this feeling of hu. miliation lasted but for a moment. The very reaction of his spirit against aggres sion roused him to a full consciousness of his own powers; and the pain and the shame of the injury were forgotten in the proud certainty of revenge." "Tis a quality" says Hume "very observable in human nature, that any opposition which does not entirely discourage and intimidate us has rather a contrary effect, and inspires us with a more than ordinary grandeur and magnanimity. In collecting our force to overcome the opposi ion, we invigorate the soul, and give it an elevation with which otherwise it would never have been acquainted." It is not generally known, that Lord Byron at one time formed a resolution to come out to this country. Mr. Moore takes no notice of this circumstance, and we have no means of knowing, why his Lordship gave up the idea. It was probably one of his sudden freaks, which were forgotten again as soon as thought of. "DEAR MOTHER, TO MRS. BYRON. "Newstead Abbey, November 2d, 1808. If you please, we will forget the things you mention. I have no desire to remember them. When my rooms are finished, I shall be happy to see you; as I tell but the truth, you will not suspect me of evasion. I am furnishing the house more for you than myself, and I shall establish you in it before I sail for India, which I expect to do in March, if nothing particularly obstructive occurs. I am now fitting up the green drawing-room; the red for a bed-room, and the rooms over as sleeping. rooms. They will be soon completed ;-at least, I hope so. "I wish you would inquire of Major Watson (who is an old Indian) what things will be necessary for my voyage. I have already procured a friend to write to the Arabic Professor at Cambridge for some information I am anxious to procure. I can easily get letters from government to the ambassadors, consuls, &c., and also to the governors at Calcutta and Madras. I shall place my property and will in the hands of trustees till my return, and I mean to appoint you one. From H** I have heard nothing-when I do, you shall have the particulars. “After all, you must own my project is not a bad onə. If I do not travel now, I never shall, and all men should one day or other. I have at present no connexions to keep me at home; no wife, or unprovided sisters, brothers, &c. I shall take care of you, and when I return I may possibly become a politician. A few years' knowledge of other countries than our own will not incapacitate me for that part. If we see no nation but our own, we do not give mankind a fair chance-it is from experience, not books, we ought to judge of them. There is nothing like inspection, and trusting to our own senses. Yours, &c." The success of the satire on the " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" elated him greatly, but as our readers are aware, he lived to repent its virulence, and was on terms of intimacy and friendship in his later years with many of those whom he had once ridiculed. The next work of any length that he was engaged on was the "Hints from Horace," a poem, of such tameness and mediocrity, that his most indulgent friends could see nothing in it that was even tolerable. The most extraordinary circumstance connected with this poem is the eagerness with which he desired its publication in preference to the first part of "Childe Harold" which he had nearly finished about the same time. Dallas has the merit, however, of having prevailed upon him to publish the "Pilgrimage" instead of the "Hints;" which with the excep tion of a few fragments have not yet seen the light. The publication of the former decided the fate of Lord Byron as a poet. It was hailed from all quarters with unqualified enthusiasm. If he had published the "Hints" first, it is difficult to say what might have been the effect upon his future career; the poem would have been censured by the critics and neglected by 'the public, while those who had dwelt still more upon the promise than the execution of his "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" might have regarded it as merely one of those flattering bursts of early talent, which are often succeeded by a life of mediocrity. After the publication of "Childe Harold," his successive poems were sent into the world with astonishing rapidity, and correspondent success. But though he produced his poems in so short a time it is not to be inferred that they were altogether unlaboured. "He formed no exception," says Moore, "to that law which im→ poses labour as the price of perfection." To show this we shall give the following lines from the Giaour as they first appeared, with the poet's after-touches Fair clime! where ceaseless summer smiles "Fair clime! where every season smiles The address at the opening of Drury Lane Theatre, after its destruction by fire was written with extraordinary care, and whole lines and thoughts repeatedly altered, with the most anxious assiduity, as may be seen by the following extracts from his letters : "September 26th, 1812. "You will think there is no end to my villanous emendations. The fifth and sixth lines I think to alter thus: "Ye who beheld-oh sight admired and mourn'd, Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd; because night' is repeated the next line but one; and, as it now stands, the conclusion of the paragraph, worthy him (Shakspeare) and you,' appears to apply the you' to those only who were out of bed and in Covent-garden market on the night of conflagration, instead of the audience or the discerning public at large, all of whom are intended to be comprised in that comprehensive and, I hope, comprehensible pronoun. "By the by, one of my corrections in the fair copy sent yesterday has dived into the bathos some sixty fathom "When Garrick died, and Brinsley ceased to write. Ceasing to live is a much more serious concern, and ought not to be first; therefore I will let the old couplet stand, with its half rhymes sought' and' wrote.' Se "Such are the names that here your plaudits sought, When Garrick acted, and when Brinsley wrote." |