Health to immortal Jeffrey 1! once, in name,
England could boast a judge almost the same;
In soul so like, so merciful, yet just,
Some think that Satan has resign'd his trust,
And given the spirit to the world again,
To sentence letters, as he sentenced men.
With hand less mighty, but with heart as black,
With voice as willing to decree the rack:
Bred in the courts betimes, though all that law
As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw;
Since well instructed in the patriot school
To rail at party, though a party tool,
Who knows, if chance his patrons should restore
Back to the sway they forfeited before,

His scribbling toils some recompense may meet,
And raise this Daniel to the judgment-seat? 2
Let Jeffries' shade indulge the pious hope,
And greeting thus, present him with a rope :
"Heir to my virtues! man of equal mind !
Skill'd to condemn as to traduce mankind,
This cord receive, for thee reserved with care,
To wield in judgment, and at length to wear."

Health to great Jeffrey! Heaven preserve his life To flourish on the fertile shores of Fife, And guard it sacred in its future wars, Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars! Can none remember that eventful day, 3 That ever glorious, almost fatal fray, When Little's leadless pistol met his eye, And Bow-street myrmidons stood laughing by ? 4 Oh, day disastrous! On her firm-set rock, Dunedin's castle felt a secret shock; Dark roll'd the sympathetic waves of Forth, Low groan'd the startled whirlwinds of the north; Tweed ruffled half his waves to form a tear, The other half pursued its calm career; Arthur's steep summit nodded to its base, The surly Tolbooth scarcely kept her place.

[Mr. Jeffrey, who, after the first Number or two, suc ceeded the Rev. Sydney Smith in the editorship of the Edinburgh Review, retired from his critical post some little time before he was appointed Lord Advocate for Scotland: he is now (1836) a Lord of Session. "I have often, since my return to England," says Lord Byron, (Diary, 1814,) “heard Jeffrey most highly commended by those who knew him, for things independent of his talents. I admire him for thisnot because he has praised me, but because he is, perhaps, the only man who, under the relations in which he and I stand, or stood, with regard to each other, would have had the liberality to act thus: none but a great soul dared hazard it a little scribbler would have gone on cavilling to the end of the chapter."]

2 ["Too ferocious - this is mere insanity."- B. 1816.] 3 ["All this is bad, because personal." B. 1816]

4 In 1806, Messrs. Jeffrey and Moore met at Chalk-Farm. The duel was prevented by the interference of the magistracy; and, on examination, the balls of the pistols were found to have evaporated. This incident gave occasion to much waggery in the daily prints. [The above note was struck out of the fifth edition, and the following, after being submitted to Mr. Moore, substituted in its place: -" I am informed that Mr. Moore published at the time a disavowal of the state. ments in the newspapers, as far as regarded himself; and, in justice to him, I mention this circumstance. As I never heard of it before, I cannot state the particulars, and was only made acquainted with the fact very lately.-November 4. 1811.]

5 The Tweed here behaved with proper decorum; it would have been highly reprehensible in the English half of the river to have shown the smallest symptom of apprehension.

6 This display of sympathy on the part of the Tolbooth (the principal prison in Edinburgh), which truly seems to have been most affected on this occasion, is much to be com mended. It was to be apprehended, that the many unhappy

The Tolbooth felt for marble sometimes can,
On such occasions, feel as much as man —
The Tolbooth felt defrauded of his charms,
If Jeffrey died, except within her arms:
Nay last, not least, on that portentous morn,
The sixteenth story, where himself was born,
His patrimonial garret, fell to ground,
And pale Edina shudder'd at the sound:

Strew'd were the streets around with milk-white reams,

Flow'd all the Canongate with inky streams;
This of his candour seem'd the sable dew,
That of his valour show'd the bloodless hue;
And all with justice deem'd the two combined
The mingled emblems of his mighty mind.
But Caledonia's goddess hover'd o'er
The field, and saved him from the wrath of Moore;
From either pistol snatch'd the vengeful lead,
And straight restored it to her favourite's head;
That head, with greater than magnetic pow'r,
Caught it, as Danaë caught the golden show'r,
And, though the thickening dross will scarce refine,
Augments its ore, and is itself a mine.

:

"My son," she cried, " ne'er thirst for gore again,
Resign the pistol, and resume the pen;
O'er politics and poesy preside,

Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide!
For long as Albion's heedless sons submit,
Or Scottish taste decides on English wit,
So long shall last thine unmolested reign,
Nor any dare to take thy name in vain.
Behold, a chosen band shall aid thy plan,
And own thee chieftain of the critic clan.
First in the oat-fed phalanx shall be seen
The travell'd thane, Athenian Aberdeen.7
Herbert shall wield Thor's hammer 8, and sometimes,
In gratitude, thou'lt praise his rugged rhymes,
Smug Sydney too thy bitter page shall seek,
And classic Hallam 10, much renown'd for Greek;

criminals executed in the front might have rendered the edifice more callous. She is said to be of the softer sex, because her delicacy of feeling on this day was truly feminine, though, like most feminine impulses, perhaps a little selfish.

7 His lordship has been much abroad, is a member of the Athenian Society, and reviewer of Gell's Topography of Troy."[George Hamilton Gordon, fourth Earl of Aberdeen, K. T., F. R.S., and P.S.A. In 1822, his lordship published an " Inquiry into the Principles of Beauty in Grecian Architecture."

8 Mr. Herbert is a translator of Icelandic and other poetry. One of the principal pieces is a "Song on the Recovery of Thor's Hammer:" the translation is a pleasant chant in the vulgar tongue, and endeth thus:

"Instead of money and rings, I wot,

The hammer's bruises were her lot,
Thus Odin's son his hammer got."

[The Hon. William Herbert, brother to the Earl of Carnarvon. He also published, in 1811, "Helga," a poem in seven cantos.]

9 The Rev. Sydney Smith, the reputed author of Peter Plymley's Letters, and sundry criticisms. [Now (1836) one of the Canons Residentiary of St. Pauls, &c. "Dyson's Address to his Constituents on the Reform Bill," and many other pieces published anonymously or pseudonomously, are generally ascribed to this eminently witty person, who has put forth nothing, it is believed, in his own name, except a volume of Sermons.]

10 Mr. Hallam reviewed Payne Knight's" Taste," and was exceedingly severe on some Greek verses therein. It was not discovered that the lines were Pindar's till the press rendered it impossible to cancel the critique, which still stands an everlasting monument of Hallam's ingenuity. - Note added to second cdition. The said Hallam is incensed because he is falsely accused, seeing that he never dineth at Holland House. If this be true, I am sorry-not for having said so, but on

Yet what avail their vain attempts to please,
While British critics suffer scenes like these;
While Reynolds vents his "dammes !"" poohs!" and
"zounds!"1

And common-place and common sense confounds? While Kenney's "World"—ah! where is Kenney's? wit?

Tires the sad gallery, lulls the listless pit;
And Beaumont's pilfer'd Caratach affords
A tragedy complete in all but words? 3

Who but must mourn, while these are all the rage,
The degradation of our vaunted stage!
Heavens! is all sense of shame and talent gone?
Have we no living bard of merit ? — none !
Awake, George Colman+! Cumberland 3, awake!
Ring the alarum bell! let folly quake!
Oh, Sheridan! if aught can move thy pen,
Let Comedy assume her throne again;
Abjure the mummery of the German schools;
Leave new Pizarros to translating fools;
Give, as thy last memorial to the age,
One classic drama, and reform the stage.
Gods! o'er those boards shall Folly rear her head,
Where Garrick trod, and Siddons lives to tread ? 6
On those shall Farce display Buffoon'ry's mask,
And Hook conceal his heroes in a cask?
Shall sapient managers new scenes produce
From Cherry, Skeffington, and Mother Goose?
While Shakspeare, Otway, Massinger, forgot,
On stalls must moulder, or in closets rot?
Lo! with what pomp the daily prints proclaim
The rival candidates for Attic fame!
In grim array though Lewis' spectres rise,
Still Skeffington and Goose divide the prize. 7
And sure great Skeffington must claim our praise,
For skirtless coats and skeletons of plays
Renown'd alike; whose genius ne'er confines
Her flight to garnish Greenwood's gay designs; 8
Nor sleeps with "Sleeping Beauties," but anon
In five facetious acts comes thundering on,"

Was

2 [Mr. Kenney has since written many successful dramas.] 3 Mr. Thomas Sheridan, the new manager of Drury Lane theatre, stripped the tragedy of Bonduca of the dialogue, and exhibited the scenes as the spectacle of Caractacus. this worthy of his sire? or of himself? [Thomas Sheridan, who united much of the convivial wit of his parent to many amiable qualities, received, after the termination of his theatrical management, the appointment of colonial paymaster at the Cape of Good Hope, where he died in September, 1817, leaving a widow, whose novel of "Carwell" has obtained much approbation, and several children; among others, the accomplished authoress of "Rosalie" and other poems, now the Honourable Mrs. Norton.]

4 [Lord Byron entertained a high opinion of George Colman's convivial powers." If I had," he says, "to choose, and could not have both at a time, I should say, Let me begin the evening with Sheridan, and finish it with Colman.' Sheridan for dinner, and Colman for supper; Sheridan for claret or port, but Colman for every thing. Sheridan was a grenadier company of life-guards, but Colman a whole regiment of light infantry, to be sure, but still a regiment. Mr. Colman died in October, 1836."]

Richard Cumberland, the well-known author of the "West Indian," the " Observer," and one of the most interesting of autobiographies, died in 1811.]

6 [In all editions previous to the fifth, it was," Kemble lives to tread." Lord Byron used to say, that," of actors, Cooke was the most natural, Kemble the most supernatural, Kean the medium between the two; but that Mrs. Siddons was worth them all put together." Such effect, however, had Kean's acting on his mind, that once, on seeing him play Sir

While poor John Bull, bewilder'd with the scene,
Stares, wondering what the devil it can mean;
But as some hands applaud, a venal few!
Rather than sleep, why John applauds it too.

Such are we now. Ah! wherefore should we turn To what our fathers were, unless to mourn? Degenerate Britons! are ye dead to shame, Or, kind to dulness, do you fear to blame? Well may the nobles of our present race Watch each distortion of a Naldi's face; Well may they smile on Italy's buffoons, And worship Catalani's pantaloons,10 Since their own drama yields no fairer trace Of wit than puns, of humour than grimace. 11

Then let Ausonia, skill'd in every art
To soften manners, but corrupt the heart,
Pour her exotic follies o'er the town,

To sanction Vice, and hunt Decorum down:
Let wedded strumpets languish o'er Deshayes,
And bless the promise which his form displays ;
While Gayton bounds before th' enraptured looks
Of hoary marquises and stripling dukes:
Let high-born lechers eye the lively Presle
Twirl her light limbs, that spurn the needless veil;
Let Angiolini bare her breast of snow,

Wave the white arm, and point the pliant toe;
Collini trill her love-inspiring song,

Strain her fair neck, and charm the listening

9 Mr. [now Sir Lumley] Skeffington is the illustrious author of the Sleeping Beauty;" and some comedies, particularly" Maids and Bachelors:" Baccalaurii baculo magis quam lauro digni.

10 Naldi and Catalani require little notice; for the visage of the one and the salary of the other, will enable us long to recollect these amusing vagabonds. Besides, we are still black and blue from the squeeze on the first night of the lady's appearance in trousers.

[The following twenty lines were struck off one night after Lord Byron's return from the Opera, and sent the next morning to the printer, with a request to have them placed where they now appear.]

12 To prevent any blunder, such as mistaking a street for a man, I beg leave to state, that it is the institution, and not the duke of that name, which is here alluded to. A gentleman, with whom I am slightly acquainted, lost in the Argyle Rooms several thousand pounds at back-gammon. It is but justice to the manager in this instance to say, that some degree of disapprobation was manifested: but why are the implements of gaming allowed in a place devoted to the society of both sexes? A pleasant thing for the wives and daughters of those who are blest or cursed with such connections, to hear

* ["True. It was Billy Way who lost the money. I knew him, and was a subscriber to the Argyle at the time of the event."-Byron, 1816.]

Where yon proud palace, Fashion's hallow'd fane,
Spreads wide her portals for the motley train,
Behold the new Petronius of the day,
Our arbiter of pleasure and of play!
There the hired eunuch, the Hesperian choir,
The melting lute, the soft lascivious lyre,
The song from Italy, the step from France,
The midnight orgy, and the mazy dance,
The smile of beauty, and the flush of wine,
For fops, fools, gamesters, knaves, and lords combine :
Each to his humour- Comus all allows;

Champaign, dice, music, or your neighbour's spouse.
Talk not to us, ye starving sons of trade!
Of piteous ruin, which ourselves have made;
In Plenty's sunshine Fortune's minions bask,
Nor think of poverty, except "en masque,"
When for the night some lately titled ass
Appears the beggar which his grandsire was.
The curtain dropp'd, the gay burletta o'er,
The audience take their turn upon the floor;
Now round the room the circling dow'gers sweep,
Now in loose waltz the thin-clad daughters leap;
The first in lengthen'd line majestic swim,
The last display the free unfetter'd limb!
Those for Hibernia's lusty sons repair

With art the charms which nature could not spare ;
These after husbands wing their eager flight,
Nor leave much mystery for the nuptial night.

Oh blest retreats of infamy and ease,
Where, all forgotten but the power to please,
Each maid may give a loose to genial thought,
Each swain may teach new systems, or be taught:
There the blithe youngster, just return'd from Spain,
Cuts the light pack, or calls the rattling main;
The jovial caster's set, and seven's the nick,
Or-done! a thousand on the coming trick!
If, mad with loss, existence 'gins to tire,
And all your hope or wish is to expire,
Here's Powell's pistol ready for your life,
And, kinder still, two Pagets for your wife; 2
Fit consummation of an earthly race,
Begun in folly, ended in disgrace;

While none but menials o'er the bed of death,
Wash thy red wounds, or watch thy wavering breath;

the billiard-tables rattling in one room, and the dice in another! That this is the case myself can testify, as a late unworthy member of an institution which materially affects the morals of the higher orders, while the lower may not even move to the sound of a tabor and fiddle, without a chance of indictment for riotous behaviour. [Conceiving the fore. going note, together with the lines in the text, to convey a reflection upon his conduct, as manager of the Argyle institution, Colonel Greville demanded an explanation of Lord Byron. The matter was referred to Mr. Leckie (the author of a work on Sicilian affairs) on the part of Colonel Greville, and to Mr. Moore on the part of Lord Byron; by whom it was amicably settled.]

1 Petronius," Arbiter elegantiarum "to Nero," and a very pretty fellow in his day," as Mr. Congreve's " Old Bachelor saith of Hannibal.

2 [The original reading was, " a Paget for your wife."] 3 I knew the late Lord Falkland well. On Sunday night I beheld him presiding at his own table, in all the honest pride of hospitality; on Wednesday morning, at three o'clock, I saw stretched before me all that remained of courage, feeling, and a host of passions. He was a gallant and successful officer his faults were the faults of a sailor - as such, Britons will forgive them. He died like a brave man in a better cause: for had he fallen in like manner on the deck of the frigate to which he was just appointed, his last moments would have been held up by his countrymen as an example to succeeding heroes. - [Lord Falkland was killed in a duel by Mr. Powell, in 1809. It was not by words only that Lord

Traduced by liars, and forgot by all,
The mangled victim of a drunken brawl,
To live like Clodius, and like Falkland fall. 3

Truth! rouse some genuine bard, and guide his hand, To drive this pestilence from out the land. E'en I-least thinking of a thoughtless throng, Just skill'd to know the right and choose the wrong, Freed at that age when reason's shield is lost,

To fight my course through passion's countless host, 4
Whom every path of pleasure's flow'ry way
Has lured in turn, and all have led astray -
E'en I must raise my voice, e'en I must feel
Such scenes, such men, destroy the public weal;
Although some kind, censorious friend will say,
"What art thou better, meddling fool 5, than they ?"
And every brother rake will smile to see
That miracle, a moralist in me.

No matter when some bard in virtue strong,
Gifford perchance, shall raise the chastening song,
Then sleep my pen for ever! and my voire
Be only heard to hail him, and rejoice;
Rejoice, and yield my feeble praise, though I
May feel the lash that Virtue must apply.

As for the smaller fry, who swarm in shoals
From silly Hafiz up to simple Bowles, 6
Why should we call them from their dark abode,
In broad St. Giles's or in Tottenham-road?

Or (since some men of fashion nobly dare
To scrawl in verse) from Bond-street or the Square?
If things of ton their harmless lays indite,
Most wisely doom'd to shun the public sight,
What harm? In spite of every critic elf,
Sir T. may read his stanzas to himself;
Miles Andrews 7 still his strength in couplets try,
And live in prologues, though his dramas die.
Lords too are bards, such things at times befall,
And 'tis some praise in peers to write at all.
Yet, did or taste or reason sway the times,
Ah! who would take their titles with their rhymes ? 8
Roscommon! Sheffield! with your spirits fled,

No future laurels deck a noble head;
No muse will cheer, with renovating smile,
The paralytic puling of Carlisle. 9

Byron gave proof of sympathy on the melancholy occasion. Though his own difficulties pressed on him at the time, he contrived to administer relief to the widow and children of his friend.]

4 [" Yes; and a precious chase they led me."-B. 1816.] ["Fool enough, certainly, then, and no wiser since."B. 1816.]

6 What would be the sentiments of the Persian Anacreon, Hafiz, could he rise from his splendid sepulchre at Sheeraz, (where he reposes with Ferdousi and Sadi, the oriental Homer and Catullus,) and behold his name assumed by one Stott of Dromore, the most impudent and execrable of literary poachers for the daily prints?

7 [Miles Peter Andrews, many years M.P. for Bewdley, Colonel of the Prince of Wales's Volunteers, proprietor of a gunpowder manufactory at Dartford, author of numerous prologues, epilogues, and farces, and one of the heroes of the Baviad. He died in 1814.]

[In the original manuscript we find these lines: -
"In these, our times, with daily wonders big,
A letter'd peer is like a lettered pig;
Both know their alphabet, but who, from thence,
Infers that peers or pigs have manly sense?
Still less that such should woo the graceful nine:
Parnassus was not made for lords and swine."]

9 [On being told that it was believed he alluded to Lord Carlisle's nervous disorder in this line, Lord Byron exclaimed, "I thank heaven I did not know it; and would not, could

The puny schoolboy and his early lay Men pardon, if his follies pass away;

But who forgives the senior's ceaseless verse,
Whose hairs grow hoary as his rhymes grow worse?
What heterogeneous honours deck the peer!
Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamphleteer! 1
So dull in youth, so drivelling in his age,
His scenes alone had damn'd our sinking stage;
But managers for once cried, "Hold, enough!"
Nor drugg'd their audience with the tragic stuff.
Yet at their judgment let his lordship laugh,
And case his volumes in congenial calf:
Yes! doff that covering, where morocco shines,
And hang a calf-skin 2 on those recreant lines. 3

And hang a calf-skin on those recreant limbs." Shak. King John. Lord Carlisle's works, most resplendently bound, form a conspicuous ornament to his book-shelves:

"The rest is all but leather and prunella."

3" Wrong also the provocation was not sufficient to justify the acerbity." B. 1816.]-[Lord Byron greatly regretted the sarcasms he had published against his noble relation, under the mistaken impression that Lord Carlisle had intentionally slighted him. In a letter to Mr. Rogers, written in 1814, he asks,-"Is there any chance or possibility of making it up with Lord Carlisle, as I feel disposed to do any thing reasonable or unreasonable to effect it." And in the third canto of Childe Harold, he thus adverts to the fate of the Hon. Frederick Howard, Lord Carlisle's youngest son, one of those who fell gloriously at Waterloo :

"Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine;
Yet one I would select from that proud throng,
Partly because they blend me with his line,
And partly that I did his Sire some wrong,
And partly that bright names will hallow song;
And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd
The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along,
Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd,
They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant
Howard!"

In the following extracts from two unpublished letters,
written when Lord B. was at Harrow, may possibly be
traced the origin of his conduct towards his guardian: -"Nov.
11. 1804. You mistake me if you think I dislike Lord Carlisle.
I respect him, and might like him did I know him better. For
him my mother has an antipathy-why, I know not. I am
afraid he could be but of little use to me; but I dare say he
would assist me if he could; so I take the will for the deed,
and an obliged to him, exactly in the same manner as if he
succeeded in his efforts."-"Nov. 21. 1804. To Lord Car-
lisle make my warmest acknowledgments.
I feel more
gratitude than I can well express. I am truly obliged to him
for his endeavours, and am perfectly satisfied with your ex-
planation of his reserve, though I was hitherto afraid it might
proceed from personal dislike. For the future, I shall con-
sider him as more my friend than I have hitherto been taught
to think."]

But now at once your fleeting labours close,
With names of greater note in blest repose.
Far be 't from me unkindly to upbraid
The lovely Rosa's prose in masquerade,
Whose strains, the faithful echoes of her mind,
Leave wondering comprehension far behind. 5
Though Crusca's bards no more our journals fill,
Some stragglers skirmish round the columns still;
Last of the howling host which once was Bell's,
Matilda snivels yet, and Hafiz yells;
And Merry's metaphors appear anew,
Chain'd to the signature of O. P. Q. 6

4" Melville's Mantle," a parody on "Elijah's Mantle," a poem.

This lovely little Jessica, the daughter of the noted Jew King, seems to be a follower of the Della Crusca school, and has published two volumes of very respectable absurdities in rhyme, as times go; besides sundry novels in the style of the first edition of the Monk." She since married the Morning Post an exceeding good match; and is now dead-which is better." B. 1816.]

6 These are the signatures of various worthies who figure in the poetical departments of the newspapers.

7 [Joseph Blackett, the shoemaker. He died at Seaham, în 1810. His poems were afterwards collected by Pratt; and, oddly enough, his principal patroness was Miss Milbank, then a perfect stranger to Lord Byron. In a letter written to Dallas, on board the Volage frigate, at sea, in June, 1811, he says, I see that yours and Pratt's protégé, Blackett the cobbler, is dead, in spite of his rhymes, and is probably one of the instances where death has saved a man from damnation. You were the ruin of that poor fellow amongst you: had it not been for his patrons, he might now have been in very good plight, shoe. (not verse-) making; but you have made him immortal with a vengeance : who would think that any body would be such a blockhead as to sin against an express proverb,- Ne sutor ultra crepidam !"

But spare him, ye Critics, his follies are past,

For the Cobbler is come, as he ought, to his last.' — Which two lines, with a scratch under last, to show where the joke lies, I beg that you will prevail on Miss Milbank to have inserted on the tomb of her departed Blackett."]

"This was meant for poor Blackett, who was then patronized by A. J. B." (Lady Byron); " but that I did not know, or this would not have been written, at least I think not." B. 1816.]

9 Capel Lofft, Esq., the Mæcenas of shoemakers, and preface-writer-general to distressed versemen; a kind of gratis accoucheur to those who wish to be delivered of rhyme, but do not know how to bring forth.-[The poet Bloomfield owed his first celebrity to the notice of Capel Lofft and Thomas Hill, Esquires, who read his " Farmer's Boy," in manuscript, recommended it to a publisher, and by their influence in society and literature, soon drew general attention to its merits. It is distressing to remember that, after all that had been done by the zeal of a few friends, the public sympathy did not rest permanently on the amiable Bloomfield, who died in extreme poverty in 1823.]

10 Read Burns to-day. What would he have been if a patrician? We should have had more polish-less force — just as much verse, but no immortality—a divorce and a duel or two, the which had he survived, as his potations must have been less spirituous, he might have lived as long as Sheridan, and outlived as much as poor Brinsley."- Byron Journal, 1813.]