lows; that these impulses were generally of the most benevolent kind." Like all persons who unite strong passions with equally strong conceptions, and with a vivid imagination, whatever he felt at all he felt most sensibly and acutely. When minds of this cast are blessed with some proportionate counterpoise of moral and religious principle, such feelings, though they must partially influence the conduct, are still not permitted to govern it. But, unhappily, Lord Byron wanted this ballast to keep his vessel steady under the heavy and shifting gales of passion and temptation. He therefore followed the impulses of feeling and sentiment, without inquiring whither they were likely to conduct him. Often, however, his impulses appear to have been transient, in proportion to their intensity. They roared and blustered for their little hour, and then gave place to some new gust or current, blowing perhaps from a quite contrary direction. But the human mind may be much under the influence of sudden impulses of sentiment and passion, and yet still own the general ascendency of some one ruling or master propensity; as the various foreign effluvia which mingle under ordinary circumstances with the atmospheric air do not deprive it of that fundamental principle in its composition on which the support of life depends. Lord Byron, with all his subjection to impulses, had still his ruling passion, which developed its prevailing influence, in a greater or less degree, under all the changes and circumstances of his life. Perhaps it would be too much to say, in the words of a poet whom Lord Byron greatly admired, though he certainly did not copy him in man

ner, that

"The master passion, ruling in his breast, Like Aaron's serpent, swallowed up the rest; "

but, if it did not annihilate occasional impulses, it controlled them, and maintained an habitual predo

And

minance in the poet's bosom. what was that master passion? If I mistake not, it was an exorbitant desire of intellectual and literary fame, with little or no regard to the moral feelings and characters of his admirers. We shall find, I think, that this principle will best account for several of the most striking facts of his history, and features of his conduct.

It furnishes, for example, a clue to the display of his temper in the publication of " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers; one of his earliest works, composed about the time of his coming of age. It is well known that the satirical poem here alluded to was occasioned by an article in the Edinburgh Review on the "Hours of Idleness, by a Minor," published two years earlier. Our great Northern Journal was, at that period, in the full blaze of its talents, and in the full carcer of its popularity; not less renowned for its wit upon matters of lighter interest, than for its power and acuteness, on graver subjects,-always excepting the subject of religion, though the gravest, the greatest, and the most worthy of superior abilities. As these formidable writers were flourishing their critical scourge, which at that time had a stinging lash appended to it, over the troop of authors who surrounded them, they found a noble minor in the throng, who seemed to be pressing towards the temple of fame with more assurance than they. thought became either his age or his abilities; and they could not refrain from giving him a stroke which he felt most severely. It was certainly calculated to make a youthful aspirant smart; and it happened to light upon a constitution which, perhaps, among the "wrathful poetic. tribe," was one of the most irascible that ever existed. Lord Byron frankly confessed that he had never been so angry in his life, either before or afterwards; though probably he said this before he had read

Mr. Southey's protest twice over, and looked those unutterable things which Captain Medwin has attempted to describe. The result was, that he vented his rage in the "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers;" a performance which, considering the age of the author, evinced great knowledge of mankind, correctness of criticism, keenness of satire, and in many parts a much better tone of moral feeling than is visible in his later productions. Here, I conceive, the master passion of Lord Byron rose into very conspicuous exercise. The "Poems by a Minor," though doubtless indicating a youth of superior intellect and attainments, gave no adequate promise of the "Childe Harolde," published about five years afterwards. Had then Lord Byron listened, upon this occasion, to the dictates of reason, candour, and conscience, instead of throwing the reins upon the neck of his wounded pride, would he not have contented himself with scrutinizing the matter of the review? Though he might have deemed it unfairly or even cruelly severe, would he not have waited to confute it by some subsequent performance that should have sealed his reputation as a poet, without betraying the bitterness of his resentment as a man? But angry feelings prevailed, and shewed that an attack upon his literary fame was the offence which he was least able to forgive. The same may have happened in the case of other youth ful bards; but at present I have to do with Lord Byron only.

To the soreness of personal, if not intellectual, pride, must also be attributed the alteration of the couplet, in this poem, relating to Lord Carlisle. Lord Byron had, in his first manuscript, given this nobleman a larger dividend of praise as a poet than was ever bestowed upon him by the public. But, deeply wounded by some real or fancied neglect on the part of his noble relative, he suppressed the laudatory distich, and inserted a contemptu

CHRIST. OBSERV. No. 279.

ous couplet in its place. The anecdote rests on the report of the late Mr. Dallas; and I see no reason for doubting its correctness. Now, in a mind not governed by the selfishness of pride and passion, reason, if not moral principle, would surely have interposed to prevent a deviation from consistency so gross and odious as this. It may not be without its parallel in the annals of literary delinquency; but it shewed a lamentable disregard to all sense of rectitude; and, though I am not partial to certain of Mr. Southey's images, I must say that it betrayed as much of the "cloven foot of human degeneracy as could well be displayed in any single action.

The principle I have laid down, as the ruling passion in Lord Byron's character, will also account for those gratuitous, and most pernicious, effusions of scepticism which teem in the Childe Harolde. It was the elder Mr. Dallas, as Lord Byron himself acknowledged, who first discerned the numerous beauties of this poem; a poem which the author was disposed, or professed to be so, to throw aside, and for which he was about to substitute a very inferior performance. In this recommendation Mr. Dallas may fairly be said to have laid the foundation of his friend's celebrity, while perhaps he contributed also to that facilis descensus Averni-that rapidly downward course of moral feeling in the noble author-which followed the unexampled success of this poem. In his recommendation, however, Mr. Dallas laboured, with the industry and zeal of a well-principled mind, to get rid of two most exceptionable stanzas, in which a cheerless gloom of scepticism, or rather the darkness of unbelief, is thrown around the awful subject of futurity. He attacked Lord Byron again and again, on this point, but without success. The stanzas his lordship was obstinately bent on retaining. Do we not, here too, witness the overbearing predominance of a love of literary fame, uncombined with the smallest

X

tenderness for moral and religious feelings? The author could not but know that the objectionable stanzas were specimens of beautiful pathos, and amongst his finest poetry. He knew also (for Mr. Dallas told him so) that their insertion, however objectionable, would at first rather increase than diminish the popularity of the work. At the same time he must have felt, had he felt morally at all, that they could tend to no valuable purpose but his own literary aggrandizement, and that their unavoidable effect would be to grieve the good, to confirm the scorner in his impiety, and to unsettle any feeble foundations of faith in the young, the careless, and the dissipated. But he evidently delighted in the daring aspect of the achievement. He was gratified with shewing the world that he was not to be terrified by the strictures of moral censors and indignant criticism. He seemed resolved to feel the pulse of the British public, on the subject of infidelity, to try what it could bear, and how far it would connive at his irreligion, from admiration of his genius. The result of the experiment was most unhappy. The poem succeeded beyond expectation; and Mr. Dallas, who had good means of ascertaining the truth, informs us, that this success raised the author's vanity to a degree of confidence and presumption which led to those still grosser out rages upon piety, virtue, and common decency, that are but too well known. It is but due to the character of the late Mr. Dallas to state, that he lived to repent deeply of having been so active an instrument in the publication of the Childe Harolde; and that he expressed the uneasiness of his conscience, on this account, within a very short period of his death.

But perhaps some persons will say, though the staunch readers of the Christian Obsesver will hardly be of their number, "What was the mighty mischief in this case? Should we lament that one of the

finest poems in the English language has not been suppressed, on account of only two objectionable stanzas? How many beauties should we have lost, in losing the Childe Harolde!" Sentiments like these proceed from a cause which has been already referred to; the gratification of fancy, and the relish of intellectual enjoyment prevailing over the sense of moral duty and heartfelt religion. But, alas! weighed against these highest interests of mankind, what are the attractions of poetry but a feather in the scale? The two justly reprobated stanzas are far from constituting the whole objection of the Christian and the moralist to this fine poem. But what if they were the whole? A subtle and searching poison may be mixed in such small proportions with the sweet or innocent ingredients of the cup, as hardly to be tasted by the victim, whom nevertheless it destroys.

The Childe Harolde, the Giaour, the Corsair, and some other of the first poems of Lord Byron, might be termed decorous and moral, when compared with the mingled grossness, licentiousness, and impiety of his latter productions. Yet, in these disgusting performances, strange as it may seem, he appears to have been mainly influenced by the desire of literary fame. If this motive be not admitted, his conduct, I fear, can only be resolved into something far worse-the utter depravity of a deliberate design upon the peace and morals of well-ordered society. I confess that, much as I abhor the tendency of some of his poems, I should be slow to charge him with an amount of guilt that would more than justify the very worst epithets which have been bestowed on him as a writer. But how, it may be asked, could he possibly hope to establish and enlarge his reputation by works so much at variance with sound principles and sober morals, as Don Juan, Cain, and the reply to Southey's Vision of Judgment? The answer is, that he thought not of

the more moral and respectable, still less of the truly religious, portion of the British public. What he wanted was the extension of a name; and this he was pretty sure of obtaining. Whether he gained it through good or through evil report, appears to have been with him, latterly, a matter of much indifference. In spite of English taste and English manners, he found that his works were read. Singularity and opposition did but advance the sale of them. Numbers of thoughtless persons eagerly ran after every thing which had his dishonoured name appended to it, and openly countenanced writings which their better feelings could not but condemn; whilst many who were entire Atheists in practice, and semiAtheists in theory, were not displeased to find their views forwarded and patronised by so great a genius. The lord chancellor might refuse his injunction; and the attorney-general might prosecute; but the indirect censure of the one only operated to widen the circulation of the noxious work; and the more decisive proceedings of the other were not sufficient for suppressing it. In short, Lord Byron found that he was triumphing at once over public opinion, law, and equity; and he seems to have enjoyed his triumph with the spirit of one who was willing to surrender all claim to moral respectability, if he could but extend his fame as a poet, and spread around terror or amazement by the boldness and eccentricities of his muse.

Perhaps, under these circumstances, even his determination to reside abroad was more connected with the desire and maintenance of literary elevation, than may, at first view, be imagined. In his self-imposed exile from his native country, there was an air of proud independence and singularity, which, while it rendered him less loved than feared, made him, at the same time, more the subject of general conversation and remark. When Lord

Byron had once resolved upon disregarding the advice of friends, the strictures of critics, and the voice of public opinion, as to the moral tendency of his writings, prudence clearly dictated that he ought not to reside in England. Bad as we are, in comparison of what we ought to be, there is, after all, perhaps, a higher strain and standard of good feeling in this country than in any other on the face of the earth; and the liberty we enjoy affords a wider and more effectual scope for the expression of that feeling here than elsewhere. Much that will pass unnoticed or uncensured in France and Italy, is branded here with just reprobation. Even we, alas! may be tempted to admire and patronise genius, when abused to very unworthy purposes; but we are not easily brought to confound vice with virtue, in our estimates of the characters of individuals. Lord Byron knew this, and wisely kept aloof. Unlike the objects of the material world, he shewed greatest at a distance. Greater nearness and fami liarity might have lessened our admiration, and by consequence his literary eminence. In all this, I am far from meaning to deny that other motives, of a private and domestic nature, which it is not my design here to touch upon, might operate, with great force, in keeping him away from his country. Still the ruling passion was, I think, strongly discernible in this circumstance of his life.

The elder Mr. Dallas, who, in spite of the Westminster Reviewers, was always in intention, and often in reality, the best friend of the noble bard, informs us that he had more than once urged him to occupy and adorn his proper station, as a member of the hereditary branch of the legislature. He made, I think, only one or two essays; and those, though unfavourable as to manner, were highly calculated, in point of matter, to command attention. What a fine spectacle would it have been to have seen