sermon.

And yet you say, the miserable man (for miserable he is, as having a soul of which he cannot get rid"-But here I must pause again, and inquire what is the meaning of this parenthesis? We have heard of people of "little soul," or of "no soul at all," but never till now of "the misery of having a soul of which we cannot get rid;" a misery under which you are possibly no great sufferer, having got rid apparently of some of the intellectual part of your own when you penned this pretty piece of eloquence.

But to continue. You call upon Lord Byron, always supposing him not the author, to disclaim "with all gentlemanly haste," etc. etc. I am told that Lord B. is in a foreign country, some thousand miles off it may be; so that it will be difficult for him to hurry to your wishes. In the mean time, perhaps you yourself have set an example of more haste than gentility; but "the more haste the worse speed."

Let us now look at the charge itself, my dear Roberts, which appears to me to be in some degree not quite explicitly worded :—

"I bribed my Grandmother's Review, the British." I recollect hearing, soon after the publication, this subject discussed at the tea-table of Mr. Sotheby the poet, who expressed himself, I remember, a good deal surprised that you had never reviewed his epic poem of Saul, nor any of his six tragedies; of which, in one instance, the bad taste of the pit, and, in all the rest, the barbarous repugnance of the principal actors, prevented the performance. Mrs. and the Misses S. being in a corner of the room, perusing the proofsheets of Mr. S.'s poems in Italy, or on Italy, as he says (I wish, by the by, Mrs. S. would make the tea a little stronger), the male part of the conversazione were at liberty to make a few observations on the poem and passage in question; and there was a difference of opinion. Some thought the allusion was to the British Critic; (1) others, that by the expression, "My Grandmother's Review," it was intimated that "my grandmother" was not the reader of the review, but actually the writer; thereby insinuating, my dear Roberts, that you were an old woman; because, as people often say, "Jeffrey's Review," "Gifford's Review," in lieu of Edinburgh and Quarterly; 50 "my Grandmother's Review" and Roberts's might be also synonymous. Now, whatever colour this insi

(I) "Whether it be the British Critic or the British Review, against which the noble lord prefers so grave a charge, or rather so facetious an accusation, we are at a loss to determine. The latter has thought it worth its while, in a

I agree with you, that it is impossible Lord Byron should be the author, not only because, as a British peer and a British poet, it would be impracticable for him to have recourse to such facetious fiction, but for some other reasons which you have omitted to state. In the first place, his Lordship has no grandmother. Now, the author-and we may believe him in this

doth expressly state that the British is his “Grandmother's Review;" and if, as I think I have distinctly proved, this was not a mere figurative allusion to your supposed intellectual age and sex, my dear friend, it follows, whether you be she or no, that there is such an elderly lady still extant. And I can the more readily credit this having a sexagenary aunt of my own, who perused you constantly, till unfortunately falling asleep over the leading article of your last number, her spectacles fell off and were broken against the fender, after a faithful service of fifteen years, and she has never been able to fit her eyes since; so that I have been forced to read you aloud to her; and this is in fact the way in which I became acquainted with the subject of my present letter, and thus determined to become your public correspondent.

In the next place, Lord B.'s destiny seems in some sort like that of Hercules of old, who became the author of all unappropriated prodigies. Lord B. has been supposed the author of the Vampire, of a Pilgrimage to Jerusalem, To the Dead Sea, of Death upon the Pale horse, of odes to La Valette, to Saint Helena, to the Land of the Gaul, and to a sucking-child. Now, he turned out to have written none of these things. Besides, you say, he knows in what a spirit of, etc. you criticise: Are you sure he knows all this? that he has read you, like my poor dear aunt? They tell me he is a queer sort of a man; and I would not be too sure, if I were you, either of what he has read or of what he has written. I thought his style had been the serious and terrible. As to his sending you money, this is the first time that ever I heard of his paying his reviewers in that coin; I thought it was rather in their own, to judge from some of his earlier productions. Besides, though he may not be profuse in his expenditure, I should conjecture that his reviewer's bill is not so long as his tailor's.

Shall I give you what I think a prudent opinion? I don't mean to insinuate, God forbid! but if, by any

public paper, to make a serious reply. As we are not so seriously inclined, we shall leave our share of this accusation to its fate." Brit. Critic.-L. E.

accident, there should have been such a correspondence between you and the unknown author, whoever he may be, send him back his money: I dare say he will be very glad to have it again; it can't be much, considering the value of the article and the circulation of the journal; and you are too modest to rate your praise beyond its real worth.-Don't be angry,-I know you won't, — -at this appraisement of your powers of eulogy; for on the other hand, my dear friend, depend upon it your abuse is worth, not its own weight, - that's a feather, but your weight in gold. So don't spare it: if he has bargained for that, give it handsomely, and depend upon your doing him a friendly office.

But I only speak in case of possibility; for, as I said before, I cannot believe, in the first instance, that you would receive a bribe to praise any person whatever; and still less can I believe, that your praise could ever produce such an offer. You are a good creature, my dear Roberts, and a clever fellow, else I could almost suspect that you had fallen into the very trap set for you in verse by this anonymous wag, who will certainly be but too happy to see you saving him the trouble of making you ridiculous. The fact is, that the solemnity of your eleventh article does make you look a little more absurd than you ever yet looked, in all probability, and at the same time, does no good; for if any body believed before in the octave stanzas, they will believe still, and you will find it not less difficult to prove your negative, than the learned Partridge found it to demonstrate his not being dead, to the satisfaction of the readers of almanacks.

What the motives of this writer may have been for (as you magnificently translate his quizzing you) 66 stating, with the particularity which belongs to fact, the forgery of a groundless fiction," (do, pray, my dear R., talk a little less "in King Cambyses' vein,") I cannot pretend to say; perhaps to laugh at you, but that is no reason for your benevolently making all the world laugh also. I approve of your being angry; I tell you I am angry too; but you should not have shown it so outrageously. Your solemn "if somebody personating the Editor of the, etc. etc. has received from Lord B. or from any other person," reminds me of Charley Incledon's usual exordium when people came into the tavern to hear him sing without paying their share of the reckoning:-"If a maun, or ony maun, or ony other maun," etc. etc.; you have both the same redundant eloquence. But why should you think any body would personate you? Nobody would dream of such a prank who ever read your compositions, and perhaps not many who have heard your conversation. But I have been inoculated with a little of your prolixity. The fact is, my dear Roberts, that somebody has tried to make a fool of you, and what he did not succeed in doing, you have done for him and for yourself.

With regard to the poem itself, or the author, whom I cannot find out, (can you?) I have nothing to say; my business is with you. I am sure that you will, upon second thoughts, be really obliged to me for the intention of this letter, however far short my expressions may have fallen of the sincere goodwill, admiration, and thorough esteem, with which I am ever, my dear Roberts,

Sept. 4th, 1819, Little Piddlington.

Most truly yours,

WORTLEY CLUTTERBUCK.

P.S. My letter is too long to revise, and the post is going. I forget whether or not I asked you the mean ing of your last words "the forgery of a groundless fiction." Now, as all forgery is fiction, and all fiction a kind of forgery, is not this tautological? The sen tence would have ended more strongly with "forgery;" only, it hath an awful Bank of England sound, and would have ended like an indictment, besides sparing you several words, and conferring some meaning upon the remainder. But this is mere verbal criticism. Good-bye-once more, yours truly, W. C.

P.S. 2d. Is it true that the Saints make up the loss of the Review?—It is very handsome in them to be at so great an expense. Twice more, yours,

SOME OBSERVATIONS

W. C.

UPON AN ARTICLE IN BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE, No. XXIX. AUGUST, 1819.

"Why, how now, Hecate, you look angrily."-Macbeth. [See "Testimonies of Authors," No. XVII, antè, p. 75%)

TO I. D'ISRAELI, ESQ.

THE AMIABLE AND INGENIOUS AUTHOR OF "THE CALAMITIES" AND "QUARRELS OF AUTHORS;" THIS ADDITIONAL QUARREL AND CALAMITY IS INSCRIBED BY ONE OF THE NUMBER.

RAVENNA, March 15, 1890. "THE life of a writer" has been said, by Pope, believe, to be “a warfare upon earth." As far my own experience has gone, I have nothing to sty against the proposition; and, like the rest, having plunged into this state of hostility, must, however reluctantly, carry it on. An article has appeared in a periodical work, entitled "Remarks on Don Juan, which has been so full of this spirit, on the part d the writer, as to require some observations on mine. | In the first place, I am not aware by what righ the writer assumes this work, which is anonymous, l be my production. He will answer, that there is ternal evidence; that is to say, that there are passage which appear to be written in my name, or in ut manner. But might not this have been done on p pose by another? He will say, why not then deny i To this I could answer, that of all the things attrbuted to me within the last five years,-Pilgrima to Jerusalem, Deaths upon Pale Horses, Odes to the Land of the Gaul, Adieus to England, Songs to Mo dame La Valette, Odes to St. Helena, Vampires, a what not, of which, God knows, I never composed nor read a syllable beyond their titles in advertise ments, I never thought it worth while to disavow any, except one which came linked with an accust of my Residence in the Isle of Mitylene, where I never resided, and appeared to be carrying the amusement of those persons, who think my name can be of a use to them, a little too far.

I should hardly, therefore, if I did not take the tron to disavow these things published in my name, ad yet not mine, go out of my way to deny an anonym work; which might appear an act of supererogatka

With regard to Don Juan, I neither deny nor admit it to be mine-every body may form their own opinion; but, if there be any who now, or in the progress of that poem, if it is to be continued, feel, or should feel themselves so aggrieved as to require a more explicit answer, privately and personally, they shall have it. I have never shrunk from the responsibility of what I have written, and have more than once incurred obloquy by neglecting to disavow what was attributed to my pen without foundation.

The greater part, however, of the "Remarks on Don Juan" contain but little on the work itself, which receives an extraordinary portion of praise as a composition. With the exception of some quotations, and a few incidental remarks, the rest of the article is neither more nor less than a personal attack upon the imputed author. It is not the first in the same publication: for I recollect to have read, some time ago, similar remarks upon Beppo (said to have been written by a celebrated northern preacher); in which the conclusion drawn was, that "Childe Harold, Byron, and the Count in Beppo, were one and the same person;" thereby making me turn out to be, as Mrs. Malaprop(1) says, "like Cerberus, three gentlemen at once." That article was signed "Presbyter Anglicanus;" which, I presume, being interpreted, means Scotch Presbyterian. (2) I must here observe,-and it is at once ludicrous and vexatious to be compelled so frequently to repeat the same thing, -that my case, as an author, is peculiarly hard, in being everlastingly taken, or mistaken, for my own protagonist. It is unjust and particular. I never heard that my friend Moore was set down for a fireworshipper on account of his Guebre; that Scott was identified with Roderick Dhu, or with Balfour of Burley; or that, notwithstanding all the magicians in Thalaba, any body has ever taken Mr. Southey for a conjuror; whereas I have had some difficulty in extricating me even from Manfred, who, as Mr. Southey sily observes in one of his articles in the Quarterly, met the devil on the Jungfrau, and bullied him :" (3) and I answer Mr. Southey, who has apparently, in his poetical life, not been so successful against the great enemy, that, in this, Manfred exactly followed the sacred precept,-"Resist the devil, and he will Bee from you."--I shall have more to say on the subect of this person--not the devil, but his most humble servant, Mr. Southey-before I conclude; but, for the present, I must return to the article in the Edinburgh lagazine.

In the course of this article, amidst some extraorlinary observations, there occur the following words: "It appears, in short, as if this miserable man, aving exhausted every species of sensual gratification, -having drained the cup of sin even to its bitterest

(1) In Sheridan's comedy of The Rivals.-L. E.

(2) See Blackwood, vol. iii. p. 329. Lord B., as it appears om one of his letters, ascribed this paper to the Rev. Dr. almers-L. E.

(3) "As the passage was curtailed in the press, I take is opportunity of restoring it. In the Quarterly Review ol. xxi. p. 366.), speaking incidentally of the Jungfrau, I ud, 'It was the scene where Lord Byron's Manfred met the vil, and bullied him-though the devil must have won his use before any tribunal in this world, or the next, if he d not pleaded more feebly for himself than his advocate, a cause of canonisation, ever pleaded for him.'" Southey. I. E.

(4) “Lord Byron was ever ready to assist the distressed,

dregs, were resolved to show us that he is no longer a human being even in his frailties,-but a cool unconcerned fiend, laughing with a detestable glee over the whole of the better and worse elements of which human life is composed." In another place there appears, "the lurking-place of his selfish and polluted exile."-"By my troth, these be bitter words!". With regard to the first sentence, I shall content myself with observing, that it appears to have been composed for Sardanapalus, Tiberius, the Regent Duke of Orleans, or Louis XV.; and that I have copied it with as much indifference as I would a passage from Suetonius, or from any of the private memoirs of the regency, conceiving it to be amply refuted by the terms in which it is expressed, and to be utterly inapplicable to any private individual. On the words, "lurking-place," and "selfish and polluted exile," I have something more to say. How far the capital city of a government, which survived the vicissitudes of thirteen hundred years, and might still have existed but for the treachery of Bonaparte, and the iniquity of his imitators,-a city, which was the emporium of Europe when London and Edinburgh were dens of barbarians,—may be termed “a lurking-place," I leave to those who have seen or heard of Venice to decide. How far my exile may have been "polluted," it is not for me to say, because the word is wide one, and, with some of its branches, may chance to overshadow the actions of most men; but that it has been “selfish" I deny. If, to the extent of my means and my power, and my information of their calamities, to have assisted many miserable beings, reduced by the decay of the place of their birth, and their consequent loss of substance-if to have never rejected an application which appeared founded on truth-if to have expended in this manner sums far out of proportion to my fortune, there and elsewhere, be selfish, then have I been selfish. To have done such things I do not deem much; but it is hard indeed to be compelled to recapitulate them in my own defence, by such accusations as that before me, like a panel before a jury calling testimonies to his character, or a soldier recording his services to obtain his discharge. If the person who has made the charge of "selfishness" wishes to inform himself further on the subject, he may acquire, not what he would wish to find, but what will silence and shame him, by applying to the Consul-General of our nation, resident in the place, who will be in the case either to confirm or deny what I have asserted. (4) I neither make, nor have ever made, pretensions to sanctity of demeanour, nor regularity of conduct; but my means have been expended principally on my own gratification neither now nor heretofore, neither in England nor out of it; and it wants but a word from me, if I thought that word decent or necessary, to call

and he was most unostentatious in his charities; for, besides considerable sums which he gave away to applicants at his own house, he contributed largely, by weekly, and monthly allowances, to persons whom he had never seen and who, as the money reached them by other hands, did not even know who was their benefactor." Hoppner.-L. E.

Mr. Galt mentions the following instance of Byron's generosity at Venice:-"The house of a shoemaker near his Lordship's residence in St. Samuel was burnt to the ground, with all it contained, by which the proprietor was reduced to indigence. Byron not only caused a new and superior house to be erected, but also presented the sufferer with a sum of money equal in value to the whole of his stock-intrade and furniture."-P. E.

forth the most willing witnesses, and at once witnesses and proofs, in England itself, to show that there are those who have derived not the mere temporary relief of a wretched boon, but the means which led them to immediate happiness and ultimate independence, by my want of that very "selfishness," as grossly as falsely now imputed to my conduct.

Had I been a selfish man-had I been a grasping man-had I been, in the worldly sense of the word, even a prudent man,-I should not be where I now am; I should not have taken the step which was the first that led to the events which have sunk and swoln a gulf between me and mine; but in this respect the truth will one day be made known: in the mean time, as Durandearte says, in the Cave of Montesinos, "Patience, and shuffle the cards."

I bitterly feel the ostentation of this statement, the first of the kind I have ever made: I feel the degradation of being compelled to make it; but I also feel its truth, and I trust to feel it on my death-bed, should it be my lot to die there. I am not less sensible of the egotism of all this; but, alas! who have made me thus egotistical in my own defence, if not they, who, by perversely persisting in referring fiction to truth, and tracing poetry to life, and regarding characters of imagination as creatures of existence, have made me personally responsible for almost every poetical delineation which fancy, and a particular bias of thought, may have tended to produce?

The writer continues:-"Those who are acquainted, as who is not? with the main incidents of the private life of Lord B.," etc. Assuredly, whoever may be acquainted with these "main incidents," the writer of the "Remarks on Don Juan" is not, or he would use a very different language. That which I believe he alludes to as a "main incident," happened to be a very subordinate one, and the natural and almost inevitable consequence of events and circumstances long prior to the period at which it occurred. It is the last drop which makes the cup run over, and mine was already full. But, to return to this man's charge: he accuses Lord B. of "an elaborate satire on the character and manners of his wife." From what parts of Don Juan the writer has inferred this he himself best knows. As far as I recollect of the female characters in that production, there is but one who is depicted in ridiculous colours, or that could be interpreted as a satire upon any body. But here my poetical sins are again visited upon me, supposing that the poem be mine. If I depict a corsair, a misanthrope, a libertine, a chief of insurgents, or an infidel, he is set down to the author; and if, in a poem by no means ascertained to be my production, there appears a disagreeable, casuistical, and by no means respectable female pedant, it is set down for my wife. Is there any resemblance? If there be, it is in those who make it: I can see none. In my writings I have rarely described any character under a fictitious name: those of whom I have spoken have had their own-in many cases a stronger satire in itself than any which could be appended to it. But of real circumstances 1 have availed myself plentifully, both in the serious and the ludicrous-they are to poetry what landscapes are to the painter; but my figures are not portraits. It may even have happened, that I have seized on some events that have occurred under my own observation, or in my own family, as I would paint a view from my grounds, did it harmonise with my picture; but I never

would introduce the likenesses of its living members, unless their features could be made as favourable u themselves as to the effect; which, in the above instance, would be extremely difficult.

My learned brother proceeds to observe, that "it is in vain for Lord B. to attempt in any way to jus tify his own behaviour in that affair; and now that he has so openly and audaciously invited inquiry and reproach, we do not see any good reason why be should not be plainly told so by the voice of his cou• trymen." How far the "openness" of an anonymous poem, and the "audacity" of an imaginary character, which the writer supposes to be meant for Lady B., may be deemed to merit this formidable denunciation from their "most sweet voices," I neither know nữ, care; but when he tells me that I cannot "in ay way justify my own behaviour in that affair," I acquiesce, because no man. can "justify" himself unti he knows of what he is accused; and I have never had—and, God knows, my whole desire has ever be to obtain it-any specific charge, in a tangible shape, submitted to me by the adversary, nor by others, less the atrocities of public rumour and the myste rious silence of the lady's legal advisers may be deemed ¦ such. But is not the writer content with what las been already said and done? Has not "the gene voice of his countrymen" long ago pronounced up, the subject-sentence without trial, and condemnates without a charge? Have I not been exiled by ostracism, except that the shells which proscribed me were anonymous? Is the writer ignorant of the patie opinion and the public conduct upon that occasion? If he is, I am not: the public will forget both, k before I shall cease to remember either.

The man who is exiled by a faction has the cons lation of thinking that he is a martyr; he is uphei by hope and the dignity of his cause, real or imaginary he who withdraws from the pressure of debt may dulge in the thought that time and prudence will re trieve his circumstances: he who is condemned by the law has a term to his banishment, or a dream of a abbreviation; or, it may be, the knowledge or t belief of some injustice of the law, or of its adm stration in his own particular; but he who is outlawed by general opinion, without the intervention of beste politics, illegal judgment, or embarrassed circusstances, whether he be innocent or guilty, must unde all the bitterness of exile, without hope, without pr without alleviation. This case was mine. Upon wat grounds the public founded their opinion, I am aware; but it was general, and it was decisive. me or of mine they knew little, except that I had written what is called poetry, was a nobleman, ba married, became a father, and was involved in cif ferences with my wife and her relatives, no one knew why, because the persons complaining refused to state their grievances. The fashionable world was divided into parties, mine consisting of a very small minority the reasonable world was naturally on the strapë side, which happened to be the lady's, as was mosi proper and polite. The press was active and sc rilous; and such was the rage of the day, that the unfortunate publication of two copies of verses, rather complimentary than otherwise to the subjects of bik was tortured into a species of crime, or construc petty treason. I was accused of every monstrous by public rumour and private rancour: my name, what had been a knightly or a noble one since my fathers