THE AMIABLE AND INGENIOUS AUTHOR OF THE

CALAMITIES AND QUARRELS OF AUTHORS, THIS

ADDITIONNAL QUARREL AXD OALAMITY

Is inscribed by () N E O F T H E N U M B E R

Ravenna, Mardi. 15, HSîO.

« The life of a writer » bas been said, by Pope, I bebeve, to be « a tcarfare upon earth. » As far as my own expérience bas gone, I bave notbing to say against tbe proposition, and, bke tbe rest, baving once plunged into tbis state of bostibty, must, bowever reluctantly, carry it on. An article bas appeared in a periodical work, entitled « Remarks on Don Juan, » w'bicb bas been so fuU of tbis spirit, on tbe part of tbe writer, as to require some observations on mine.

In thc lirst place, I am not aware by Mbat rigbt tlie wri-

ter assumes this work, which is anonymous, to be my production. He "«ill answer, tliat thcre is internai évidence; that is to say , that there are passages which appear to be written in my name, or in my manner. But might not this bave been donc on purpose by another? He will say, why not then deny if? To this I could answer, that of ail the things attributed to me within the last five years, — Pilgrimages to Jérusalem, Deaths upon Pale Horses, Odes to the Land of the Gaul, Adieus to England, Songs to Madame La Valette, Odesto Saint-Helena, Vampires, and what not, — of w hich, God know s I nevor composed nor read a syllable beyond their titles in advertisejnents, — I never thougt it worth while to disavow any, except oue which came linked whith an account of my « résidence in the Isle of Mitylene, » where I never rcsided, and appeared to be carryingthe amusement of those persons, m ho thiïik my name can be of any lise tu them, a liltle too far.

I should hardly. therefore, if I did not takcthe trouble to disavow thèse things published in my name, and yet not mine, go out uf my way to deny an anonymous work, which might appear an act of supererogation. With regard to Don Juan, I neither deny nor admit it to be mine, everybody may form their own opinion; but, if there be any who now, or in the progress of that poem, if it isto be continued, feel, or should feel themselves so aggrieved as to require a more 'explicit answer, privately and personally, they shall hâve it.

I bave never shrunk from the responsibility of what

I hâve written, and bave 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 onthe work itself, wliich receivesan exlraordinary portion of praise as a composition. With the exception ofsome quotations, and a fesv incidental remarks, the rest of the article is neithe» more nor less than a Personal attack upon the imputed author. It is not the lîrst in the same publication : for I recoUect to bave read, some time ago, similar remarks upon « Beppo » (said to bave been written by a celebrated nortbern preacher) ; in wbich the conclusion drawn was, that « Çhilde Harold, Byron, and the Count in Reppo, were one and the same person, » thereby making me turn out to be, as Mrs. Malaprop says, « like Cerberus, three (jentlemen at once. » That article was signed « Presbyter Anglicanus; » which, I présume, being interpreted, means Scotch Presbyterian. I must hère observe, and it is at once ludicrous and vexatious to be compelled so frequently to repoat 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 fire-worshipper on account of bis Guebre; that Scott was identified with Roderick Dhu, or with Balfour of Burley; or that, notwithstanding ail the magicians in Thalaba, anybody bas ever taken Mr. Southey for a conjurorj whereas I hâve had some difficulty in extricating me even from Manfred, who, as Mr. Southey slily observes in one of his articles in theQuarterly, « met the devil on the lungfrau, and buUied him : » and I answer Mr. Southey, who basapparently, in his poetical life, not been sosuccessful against the greatenemy, that, in this, Manfred exactly foUowed the sacred precept, — « Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. » — I shall bave more to say on the subject of this person •— not the devil, but his

most humble servant Mr. Southey — before I conclude; but, for the présent, I must return to the article in the Edinburgh Magazine.

In the course of this articl^amidst some extraordinary observations, there occur the follow ing w ords : — « It appears, in short, as if Ibis misérable man, baving exhausted exery species of sensual gratification, — having drained the cup of sin even to its bitterest dregs, were resolved to show us that he is no longer a human being even in bis frailties, but a cool, unconcernedfiend, laughing with a détestable glee over the whole of the better and w orse éléments of which human life is composed. » In another place there appears, « the lurking-place ofhis selfish and- poUuted exile. » — « By mytrotb, thèse be bitter vvords ! » — With regard to the first sentence, I shall content myself with observing, that it appears to bave been composed for Sardanapalus, Tiberius, the Régent Duke of Orléans, or Louis XV; and that I bave copied it with as much indifférence as I vn ould 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 bave something more to say. — How far the capital city of a government, which survived the vicissitudes of thirteen hundred years, and might still bave existed but for the treachery of Buonaparte, and the iniquity ofhis 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 bave seen or heard of Venice to décide. How far my exile may bave been « polluted, » it is not for me to say, because the word

is a wide one, and, w ith some of its branches, may chance 0 oversbadow the actions of most men; but that it has been « selfish » I deny. If, to the extent of my means and my powcv, and my information of their calaniities, to hâve assisted many misérable beings, reduced by the decay of the place of their birth and their conséquent loss of substance — if to hâve neverrejected an application Avhichappeared foundedon truth — if to hâve expended in this manner sums far out of proportion to my fortune, there and elsewhere, be selfish. then hâve I been selfish. To hâve 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 bis character, or a soldier recording bis services to obtain bis discharge. If the person who has made the charge of « selfishness » wishes to inform himself further on the subject, he may acquire, not Avhat he Avould n\ ish to find, but what will silence and shame him, by applying to the Consul-General of our nation, résident in the place, who Avill Ije in the case either to confirm or deny what I hâve asserted.

I neither make, nor bave ever made, pretensions to sanctity of demeanour, nor regularity of conduct, but my means bave 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 décent or necessary, to call forth the most willing witnesses, and at once witnesses and proofs, in England itself, to show that there are those who hâve derived not the mère temporary relief of a wretched boon, but the means which led them to immédiate happiness and ultimate independence , by my

whant of that very « selfishncss », as grossly as falsely now imputée! to my conduct.

Had I been a selflsh man — had I been a grasping man — had I been, in the worldly sensé of the word, even a prudent man, — I sbould not be where I now am; I should not hâve taken the stcp ^vhi(■h was the first that led to the events which bave 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 bave ever made : I feel the dégradation of being compelled to make it ; but I also feel its truth, and I trust to feel itonmy death-bed, should it be my lot to die there. I am not less sensible of the egotism of ail this ; but, alas ! who bave made methus egotistical in my own defence, if not thcy, who, by perversely persisting in referring fiction to truth, and tracing poetry to life, and regarding characters of imagination as créatures of existence, bave made me pcrsonally responsible for almost every poetical delineation m hich fancy, and a particular bias of thought, may bave tended to produce?

The w riter continues : — « Those who are acquainted, os who is not ? with the main incidents of the private life of Lord B., etc. ». Assuredly, whoever maybe acquainted with thèse « main incidents, » the writer of the « Remarks on Don Juan » is not, or he would use a very différent language. That which I believe he alludes to as a « main incident, » happened to be a very subordinate one, and the natural and almost inévitable conséquence of events and circumstances long prior to the period at which it occurred. It is the last drop which makcs the cup run over, and mine was already

full. — But, to reltirn tho 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 recoUect of the female characters in that production, there is but one who is depicted in ridiculous colours, orthatcould beinterpreted as a satire upon any body. But hère my poetical sins are again revisited upon me, supposing that the poem be mine. If I depict a corsair, a misanthrope, a libertine, a chicf 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, andby no means respectable female pédant, 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 hâve rarely described any character under a fictitious name : those of ^^hom I bave spoken hâve had their own — in many cases a stronger satire in itself than any which could be appended to it. But of real circumstances I bave availed myself plentifully, both in the serious and the ludicrous — they are to poetry" what landscapes are to the painler; but my figures are net portraits. It may even bave happened, that I bave seized on some events that bave 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 bemade as favourableto themselves as to the effect; which, in the above instance, would by extremely difficult.

My learned brother proceeds to observe that « it is in vain for Lord B. to attempt in any way to justify his own beha-

viuiir in that affair; and noAv that lie lias so openly and tiudacioushj invited inqulry and reproacli, we do not see aiiA good reason avIiv lie should not be plainly told so by the voice of liis countrymen . » How far the « openness » of an anonymous poem, and the « aiulacity » of an imaginary character, Mhich the writer supposes to be meant for Lady B., may be deemcd to merit this formidable denunciation from their « most sweet voices », I neither know nor care; but when he tells me that I cannot « in any \vay justlfy my own behaviour in that aflfair, » I acquiesce, because no man can « justify » himself until he kno^vs of what he is accused; and I bave never liad — and, God knows, my w hole désire bas ever been to obtain it — any spécifie charge, in a tangible shape, siibmitted to me by the adversary, nor by others, uniess the atrocities of public rumour and the mysterious silence of the lady's légal advisers may be deemed such. But is not the vriter content with what bas been already said and donc? Has not « the gênerai voice of his countrymen » long ago pronounccd upon the subject — sentence without trial, and condamnation without a charge? Hâve I not been exiled b> ostracism, cxcept that the shells whkh ])roscribed me worc anonymous? Is the writer ignorant of the public opinion and the public conduct upon tfiat occasion? If he is, I am not : the public \\ ill forget both, long before I shall cease to l'cmember either.

The man who is exiled by a faction has the consolation of thinking that he is a niart\r; he is uplield by hope and the dignity of his cause, rcal or imaginary : he who withdra^AS Irom the pressure of debt may indulge in the thought that time and prudence w ill retrieve his circumstances : he w ho is ciindcmncd bv tbi^ law lias a terni to bis banishment, or

a dream of its abbre"viation; or, it may be, Ihe knowledge or the belief of some injustice of the law, or of its administration in bis own particular; but he who is outlawed by gênerai opinion, without the intervention of hostile politics, illégal judgment, or embarrassed circumstances, whether he be innocent or guilty, must undergo ail the Ijitterness of exile, without hope, without pride, without alleviation. This case ^vas mine. Upon what grounds the public founded their opinion, I am not aware; but it was gênerai, and it was décisive. Of me or of mine they knew little, except that I had written what is called poetry, was a nobleman, had married, became a father, and was involved in différences 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 wasnaturally on the stronger side, which happened to be the lady's, as was most proper and polite. The press was active and scurrilous ; 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 both, was tortured into a species of crime, or constructive petty treason. I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour : my name, which had been a knightly or a noble one since my fathers helped to conquer the kingdom for William the Norman, was tainted. I felt that, if ^^hat was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England; if false, England was unfît for me. I withdrew : but this was not enough. In other countries, in Switzerland, in the shadow of tlie Alps, and by the blue depth of the lakes, I was pursued and

breathed upon b\ the same blight. I crossed the mountains, but it was the same; so I went a little farther, and settled myself by the waves of the Adriatic, Hke the stag at bay, Avhu betakes him to the waters.

If 1 may judge dy the statements of the few friends who gathered round me, the outcry of the period to which I allude was beyond ail précèdent, ail parallel, even in those cases Avhere political motives hâve sharpened slander and doubled enmily. I was advised not to go to the théâtres, lest I should be hissed, nor to my duty in parliament, lest I should be insulted by the way; even on the day of my departure, my most intimate friend told me afterwards, that he was nnder appréhensions of violence from the people who might be assembled at tlie door of the carriage. However, I was not deterred by thèse counsels from seeingKean in his best characters, nor from voting according to my principles; and with regard to the third and last appréhension of my friends, I could not share in them, not being made acquainted with their estent till some time after I had crossed the Channel. Even if I had been so, I am not of a nature to be much affected by men's anger, though I may feel hurt by their aversion. Against ail individual outrage, I coud protect or redress myself; and against that of a crowd, I should probably hâve been enabled to défend myself, with the assistance of others, as bas been done on similar occasions.

I retired from the country, perceiving that I was the object of gênerai obloquy; I did notindeed imagine, like Jean- Jacques Rousseau, that ail mankind was in a conspiracy against me, though I had perhaps as good grounds for such a chimera as ever he had : but I perceived that I had to a great extent become personally obnoxious in England, per-

haps through my own fault, but the fact was indisputable: the public in gênerai woukl hardlyhave been so much excited against a more popular character, w ithout at least an accusation or a charge ofsomekind actually expressed or substantiated, fori can hardly conceive that the common and everyday occurrence of a séparation bet^\ een man and wife could in itself produce so greata ferment. I shall say nothing of the complaints of « being prejudged, » « condemned unheard, » « unfairness, » « partiality », and so forth, the u.sual rhanges rang by parties who bave had, or are to ha\e, a trial : but I was a little surprised to find myself condemned without being favoured with the act of accusation, and to perceive in the absence of tbis portentous charge or charges, a\ hatever it or they were to be, that every possible or impossible crime was rumoured to supply its place, and taken for granted. This could only occur in the case of a person very much disliked , and I knew no remedy, having already used to their estent whatever little powers I might possess of pleasing in Society. I had no party in fashion, though I was afterwards told that there was one — but is was not of my formation, nor did I then know of its existence — none in literature ; and in politics I had voted w ith the Whigs, w ith precisely that importance which a Whig vote possesses in thèse Tory days, and Nvithsuch personal acquaintance with the leaders in both bouses as the society in wbicb I lived sanctioned, but without claim or expectation of any tbing like friendship from any one, except a few young men of my own âge and standing, and a few others more advanced in life, w hich last it had been my fortune to serve in circumstances of difficulty. This was, in fact, to stand alone : and I recollect, some time after, Madame da Stai-l said to me in Switzerland, « You

should not bave warred with the m orkl — it will no do — it is too strong ahvays foranyindividual: I myself once tried it in early life, but it Avill not do. » I perfectly acquiesce in tbe truth of this remarck ; but the world had done me tho honourto begin Ihe ^^ar; and, assuredly, if peace is only to be obtained by courting and paying tribute to it, I am not qnabfied to obtain its countenance. I thought, in tlie \vords of Campbell,

« Then wed thee to an exiled lot, And if the world hath loved thee not, Its absence mav he borne. «

I recoUect, however, that, having been much hurt by Romilly's conduct (he, having a gênerai retainer for me, had acted as adviser to the adversary, alleging, on being reminded of his retainer, thad he had forgotten it, as bis clerk had se many), I observed that some of those who were now eagerly laying the axe to my roof-tree, might see their own shaken, and feel a portion of what they had inflicted. —His fell, and crushed him.

I bave heard of, and believe, that there are buman beings so constifuted as to be insensible to injuries; but I believe that the best mode to avoid taking vengeance is to get ont of the w ay of temptation, I hope that I may never bave the opportunity, for I am not quite sure that I could resist it, having derived from my molher something of the « perfenidum ingenium Scotonim ». I bave not sought, and shall not seek it, and perhaps it may never come inmy path. I do not in this allude to the party, who might be right or wrong; but to many wbo made her cause the pretext of their own bitterness. She, indeed, must bave long avenged me in her own

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leelings ; for ^\ halever her reasons may liave been (and shc iiever adduced tliem to me at least), she probably neither contemplated nor conceived to ^hat she became the means of conducting the father of her child, and the husband of her choice.

So much for « the gênerai voice of bis countrymen. » I \\ ill now speak of some in particular.

In the beginning of the year 1817, an article appeared in the Quarterly Review, written, I believe, by Walter Scott, doing great honour to him, and no disgrâce to me, though both poetically and personally more than sufficiently favourable to the work and the author of whom it treated. It was written at a time when a selfish man would not, and a timid one dared not, bave said a word in favour of either ; it was written by one to whom temporary public opinion had elevated me to the rank of a rival — a proud distinction and immerited ; but which bas not prevented me from feeling as a friend, nor him from more than corresponding to that sentiment. The article in question was written upon the Third Canto of Childe Harold; andafter many observations, which it would as ill become me to repeat as to forget, concluded '^^ith « a hope that I might yet return to England ». How this expression was received in England itself I am not acquainted, but it gave great offcnce at Rome to the respectable ten or twenty thousand Enghsh travellers tlien and therc assembled. I did not visit Rome till some time after, so that I had no opportunity of knowing the factj but I was informed, long afterwards, that the greatest indignation had been manifested in the enlightened Anglo-circle of that year, which happened to comprise within it — amidst a considérable leaven of Welbeck Street and Devonshire Place, broken

loose upon their travels — several really well-born aud \\e\ihred lamilies, who did not tlie less participate in the feeling iif the hour. « Why should he return to England ? » was the gênerai exclamation. — I answer ichyl It is a question I hâve occasionally asked mvself, and I never yet could givc it a satisfactory reply . I had then no thought of returning, and if I havcany now, they are of business, and not of pleasure. Amidst the lies that hâve been dashed to pièces, there are links yet entire, though the chain itself be broken. There are duties, and connections, which may one day re- •luire m\ présence and I am a father. I havc still some l'riends Avhom I \s ish to meetagain, and it may be, an enemy. Thèse things, and those minuter détails of business, m hich time accumulâtes during absence, in every man's affairs and property, ma}, and probably will, recall me to England; but I shall return with the same feelings N\ith Avhich I left it, in respect to itself, though altered Avith regard to individuals, as I bave been more or less informed of their conduct since my departure; for it was only a considérable time after it that I w as made acquainted with the real facts and fuU extent of some of their proceedings and language, My friends, like other friends, from conciliatory motives, withheld from me much that they could, and some things which they shouM hâve unfolded; however, that which is deferred is not lostbut it has been no fault of mine that it bas been deferred at ail.

I bave alluded to what is said to bave passed at Rome mere- 1\ to shoM that the sentiment which I hâve described was nut confined to the English in England, and as forming part of mj answer to the reproach cast upon what has been cal- Ifd my « selfish exile, » and my « voluntarx exile. » « Vo-

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luiitar,) » it has been; for m ho \\ould (hvell aniong a [leople eiitertaining strong hostility against him? How lar it has been « selfish » has bcen already explained.

I hâve no^Y arrived at a passage describing me as having vented my « spleen against the lofty-minded and virtuous men, » men « ^^ hose virtues few indeed ean equal ; » meaning, I humbly présume, the notorious triumvirate known by the name of « Lake Poets » in their aggregate capacity, and by Soulhey, Wordsworth, and Coleridge, Avhentaken singly. I w ish to say a Avord or two upon the virtues of one of those persons public and private, forreasons whichAvill soon appear.

When I left England in April, 1816, ill in mind, in body, and in circumstances, I took up my résidence at Cologny, by the lake of Geneva. The sole companion of my 'journey m as a young physician, m ho had to make his \\a.\ in the vvorld, and having seenverylittleof it, wasnaturally andlaudablydesirous of seeing more socicty than suited my présent habits or my past expérience. I therefore presented him to those gentlemen of Geneva for vvhom I had letters of introduction ; and having thus seen him in a situation to make his own vvay retired formy own part entirely from society, vvith the excei)tion of one English faniily , living at abuut a quarter of a mile's distance from Diodati, and with the further exce[ition of some occasional intercourse \\ithCoppetat the wish of Madame de Slaël. The English family to Avhish I allude cousisted of Iwo ladics, a gentleman and his son, a boy ofayear old.

a One of « thèse lofty-minded and virtuous men, » in tlie \\ords of the Edinburgh-Magazine, made, I understand, about this time, or soon after, a tour in Switzerland. On his return to England, lie circulated— and, for anything I know, inventod— a report, thatthe gentleman to whom I hâve allu-

dcd and myself were living in promiscuous intercourse witii two sisters, « having formed a league of incest « (I quote thc words as they w ère stated to me), and indulged himself ou the natural comment supon such a conjunction, which are said to hâve been repeated publicly, m ith great complacency, by another of that poetical fraternity, of whom I shall say only, Ihat even had the story been true, he should not hâve repeated it, as far as it regarded myself, except in sorrow. The taie itselfrequires but a word in answer-the ladies were not sisters, nor in any degree connected, except by the second mariage of their respective parents, a widower with a widow, bothbeingthe ofîspring of former marriages; neither of thcm were, in 1816, nineteen yearsold. « Promiscuous intercoure » could hardly hâve disgusted the great patron of pantisocracy, (does Mr. Sonthey remember such a sheme?) but there was none.

How far this man, who, as author of Wat Tyler, bas been proclaimedby the Lord Chancellorguilty of atreasonable and blasphemous libel, and denounced in the House of Gommons, by the upright and able member for Norwich, as a « rancorous renegado » be fit for sitting as a judge upon olhers, let others judge. He bas said that for this expression « lie brands William Smith on the forehead as acalumniator, » and that « the mark will outlast his epitaph. » How long William Smith's epitaph will last, and in what \a ords it will be written, I know not, but William Shmith's words lorm the epitaph itsclf of Robert Southey. He has written Wat Tyler and taken the office of poet lauréate — he has, in the lifc of Henri Kirke White denominated reviewing « the ungentle craft, » and has become a reviewer — he was one of the projectors of a scheme, called « pantisocracy, » for having ail

lliings, including\vomen,in commou (</?<(;/';/, commonwomen?) and he sets up as a moralist — he denounced the battle ol' Blenheim, and he praised the battle of Waterloo — he loved Mary Wollstoncraft, and he tried to blast the character of her daughter (one of the young famales mentioned) — he wrote treason, and serves the king — he^\as the butt of the Antijacobin, and he is the prop of the Quarterly Review; licking the hands that smote him, eating the bread of his enemies, and internally Avrithing beneath his own contempt, — he would fain conceal, under anonymous bluster and a vain endeavour to obtain the estera of others, after having for ever lost his own, his leprous sensé of his own dégradation. What is there in such a man to « envy? » Who ever envied the envious? Is it his birth, his name, his famé, or his virtues, that I am to « envy ? » I was born of the aristocracy, which he abhorred; and am sprung, by my mother, from the kings who preceded those whom he bas hired himself to sing. It cannot, then, be his birth. As a poet, I bave, for the past eight years, had nothing to apprehend from a compétition ; and for Ihe future, « that life to come in every poet's creed, » it is open to ail. I will only remind Mr. Southey, in the words of a critic, w ho, if still living, w ould bave annihilated Southey's literary existence now and hereafter, as the sworn foe of charlatans and impostors, from Macpherson doNNnwards, that « those dreams \\ere Settle's once and Ogilby's;» and, for my own part, I assure him, that whenever he and his sect are remembered, I shall be proud to bc « forgot. » That he his not content w it his success as a poet may reasonably be beheved— he has been the nine-pin of reviews; the Edinburgh knocked him down, and the Quarterly set him up; the government found him useful in the periodi-

cal line, and made a point of recommending his wurks to purchasers, so tliat lie is occasionally bought, (I mean his books, as well as the author), and may be found onthe same shelf, if not upon the table, of most of the gentlemen employed in the différent offices. With regard to his private virtues, I know nothing — of his principles, I hâve heard cnough. As far as having been, to the best of my power, benevolent to others, I do not fear the comparison; and for the errors of the passions, w as Mr, Southey alvcays so tranquil and stainless? Did he never covet his neighbour's wife's daughter, the off'spring of her' he coveted? So mueh for the apostle of pantisocracy.

Of the « lofty-minded, virtuous » Wordsworth, one anecdote will suffice to speak his sincerity. In a conversation Avith Mr.— upon poetry, he concluded with « after ail I would not give five shillings for ail that Southey bas ever -written. » Perhaps this calculation might rather show his esteem for live shillings than his low estimate ofDr. Southey j but considering that when he was in his need, and Southey had a shilling, Wordsworth is said to hâve had generally six pence out of it, it bas an awkward sound in the A\ay of valuation. This anecdote was told me by persons m ho, if quoted by name,. would prove that its genealogy is poetical as well as true; I oan give my authority for this ; and ara ready to adduce it also for Mr. Southey"s circulation of the falsehood beforé mentioned.

Of Coleridge, I shall say nothing — why, he may divine.

I hâve said more of thèse people than I intended in this place, being somewhat stirred by the remarks which induced me to commence upon the topie. I see nothing in thèse men, as poets, or as individuals — little in their talents, and

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less in their characters, to prevent honest men from expressing for them considérable contempt, in prose or rhyme, as it may happen. Mr. Southey lias theQuarterly for his field of rejoinder, and î^Ir. Wordsworth his postcripls to « Lyrical Ballads », where the two great instances of the sublime are taken from himself and Milton. « Over her own sweet voice the stockdove broods»; that is to say, she has the pleasure of listening to herself, in common with Mr. Wordsworth upon most of his public appearances. « Whatdivinity doth hedge» thèse persons, that Nve should respect them? Is it ApoUo ? Are theynotofthosewhocalledDryden's Ode « adrunken song?» Nvho hâve discovered that Gray's Elegy is full of faults, (see Coleridge's Life, vol. 1. Note, for Wordsworth's kindness in pointing this out to him and bave published whatis allowed to be the very worst prose that ever ^vas written to, prove that Pope Avas no poet, and that William Wordsworth is?

In other points, are they respectable, or respected ? Is it on the open avowal of apostasy, on the patronage of government, that their claim is founded? Wlio is there who esteems those parricides of their own principles? They are, infact, well aware thatthe reward of their change has been any thing but honour. The times bave preserved a respect for political consistency, and, eventhoughchangeable, honour the unchanged. Look al Moore : it will be long ère Southey meets with such a triumph in London as Moore met with in Dublin, even if the government subscribe for it, and set the money down to secret service. It wasnot less to the man than to the poet, to thetempted but unshaken patriot, to the not opulent but incorruptible fellow-citizen, thatthe warm-hearted Irish paid the proudest of tributes. Mr. Southey may applaud himself to theworld,but he has his own heartiest contempt;

and the fui y with which he foams against ail who stand in the phalanx which he forsook, is, as William Smith described it, « the rancour of the renegado, » the bad language of the prostitute Avho stands at the corner of the street, and showers her slang upon ail, except those m ho may hâve bestowed upon her her « little shilling ».

Hence his quarterly overtlow ings, political and literary, in what he has himself termed «the ungentle craft », and his especial vvrath against Mr. Leigh Hunt, notwithstanding that Hunl has done more for Wordsworth's réputation, as a poet (such as it is), than ail the Lak^rs could in their interchange, of self-praises for the last tw enty-five years.

And hère I wish to say a few words on the présent state of English poetry. That this is the âge of the décline of English poetry will be doubted byfew who hâve calmly considered the subject. That there are men of genius among the présent poets makes little against the fact, because it has been vvell said, that « next to him Avho forms the taste of his country, the greatest genius is he who corrupts it. » No one has ever denied genius to Marino, vvho corrupted not merely the taste of Italy, but that of ail Europe for nearl> a century. The great cause of the présent déplorable state of English poetry is to be attributed to that absurd and systeniatic dépréciation ofPope, in which, for the last few years, there has been a kind of epidemical concurrence. Men of the most opposite opinions bave united upon this topic. Warton and Churchill began it, having borroAved the hint probably from the heroes of the Dunciad, and their own internai conviction that their proper réputation can be as nothingtillthe most perfect and harmonious of poets — he who, having no fault, has had reason made his reproach — wa?

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retluced to ^^ilat llie\ conccived to be his level; but cven ihcy darecl not dégrade him below Dryden. Goldsmith, and Rogers, and Campbell, his most successfiil disciples; and Hayley, who, however feeble, bas left one poem « tbat will not be w'illingly let die » (the Triumphs of Temper), kept up the réputation of that pure and perfect style; and Crabbe, the first of living poets, bas almost equalled the master. Then came Dar^vin, who wasputdo^nhy a single poem iu the Antijacobin; and the Cruscans, from Merry to Jerningham, who were annihilated (if Nothing can be said to be annihilated) by Gifford, the last of the wholesome satirists. At the same time Mr. Sonthey was favouring the public Avith Wat Tyler and Joan of Arc, to the great glory of the Drama and Epos. I beg pardon, Wat Tyler, with Peter Bell, was stillinMS.; and it was not till after Mr. Southey had received his Malmsey butt, and Mr. Wordsworth became ({ualified to gauge it, that the great revolutionary tragedy came before the public and the Court of Chancery. Wordsworth was peddiing his lyrical ballads, and brooding a préface, to be succeeded in due course by a postscript; both couched in such prose as must give peculiar delight to those who bave read the préfaces, of Pope and Dryden; scarcely less celebrated, for the beauty of their prose, than for the charms of the verse. WordsMorth is the reverse of Molière 's gentleman who had been « talking prose ail his life without knowing it; » for he thinks that he lias been ail his life N\riting both prose and verse, and neither of what lie conceives to be such can be properly said to be either one or the other. Mr. Coleridge, the future vates, poet and seer of tiie Morning Post (an honour also clairmed by Mr. Fitzgerald of the « Rejected Addresses, ») uho ultima-

tely prophesied the downfall of Buonaparte, to which he himself mainly contributed, by giving him the nickname of « the Corsican », was then employed in predicating the damnation of Mr. Pitt, and the désolation of England, in the two very Lest copies of verses he ever Avrote : to wit, the infernal eclogue of a Fire, Famine, and Slaughter » and the «Ode to the departing Year. »

Thèse three personages, Southey, Wordsw orth, and Coleridge, had ail of them a very natural antipathy to Pope; and I respect them for it, as the only original feeling or principle which they hâve contrived to' préserve. But they hâve been joined in it by thosewho havejoined them in nothing else : by the Edinburgh Reviewers, by the whole heteregoneous mass of living English poets, excepting Crabbe, Rogers, Gifford, and Campbell, who, both by precept and practice hâve proved their adhérence : and by me, who hâve shamefully deviated in practice, but hâve ever loved and honoured Pope's poetry with my whole soûl, and hope to do so till my dung daj . I would rather see ail I bave ever written lining the same trunk in \vhich I actually read the eleventh book of a modem epic poem at Malta, in 1811, (I opened it to take out a change after tlie paroxysm ofatertian, in the absence of my servant, and found it lined with the name of the maker, Eyre, Cockspur Street, and with the epic poetry alluded to,) than sacrifice what I lirmly believe in as the Christianity of English poetry, the poetry of Pope.

"But the Edinburgh Reviewers, and the Lakers, and Hunt and bis school, and every body else with their school, and even Moore without a school, and dilettanti lecturers at ins* titutions, and elderly gentlemen A\ho translate and imitate, and young ladies who listen and repeat, baronets who dra^i

indifTerent frontispieces for bad poets, and noblemen who let them dinewith them in the country, the small body of the Nvits and the great body of the blues, bave latterly united in a dépréciation, of which their fathers would bave been as much ashamed as their children will be. In the mean time, what bave we got instead ? The Lake school, wbich began with an epic poem, « written in six weeics, » (so Juan of Arc proclaimed herself), and finished with a ballad composed in twenty years, as « Peter Bell's » creator takes care to inform the iew who will inquire. What bave we got instead? A déluge of flimsy and unintelligible romances imitated from Scott and myself, who bave botb made the best of our bad materials and erroneous System. What bave we got instead? Madoc, wicb is neither an epic nor any thing else ; Thalaba, Kebama, Gebir, and such gibberish, written in ail mètres and in no language. Hunt, who bad powers to bave made « the Story of Rimini » as perfect as a fable of Dryden, bas thoughtfit to sacrifice bis genius and his taste tosome unintelligible notions of Wordsworth , which I defy him to explain. Moore bas -—But why continue? — AU, with the exception of Crabbe, Rogers, and Campbell, who may be considered as having taken their station, will, by the blessing of God, survive thein own réputation, Avitbout attaining any very extraordinary period of longevity. Of course there must be a still furtber exception in favour of tbose who, having never obtained any réputation as ail, unlets it be among provincial literati, and their own famihes, bave none to lose ; and of Moore, who as the Burns of Ireland, possessesa famé which cannot be lost.

The greater part of the poets mentioned, hovewer, bave hoen able to gather together a few followers. A paper of

the Connaisseur says, that « it is observed by tlie French, that a cat, a priest, and an old woman are sufficient to constitute a religions sect in England. » The same number of animais, with some différence in kind, will suffice for a poetical one. If we take sir George Beaumont instead of the priest, and Mr. Wordsworth for the old "vvoman, we shall noarly complète the quota required; but I fear that Mr. Southey will but indifferently represent the Cat, having shoA\ n himself but too distinctly to be of a species to which that noble créature is peculiarly hostile.

Nevertheless, I will not go so far as WordsAvorth in bis postscript, Avho prétends that no great poet ever had immédiate famé ; which being interpreted, means that William Wordsworth is not quite so much read by bis contemporaries as might be désirable. This assertion is as false as it is foolish. Homer's glory depended upon bis présent popularity : he recited, — and without the strongest impression of the moment, M ho would bave gotten the Iliad by heart, and given it to tradition? Ennius, Terence, Plautus, Lucretius, Horace, Yirgil .iCschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Sappho, Anacreon, Theocritus, ail the great poets of antiquity, w ère the delight ol Iheir contemporaries. Thevery existence of a poet, previous to the invention of printing, depended upon bis présent popuhirity; and how often bas it impaired bis future famé? Hardly ever. History informs us, that the best bave come dow n tous. The reason is évident; the most popular found the greatest number of transcribers for their MSS., and lliat the taste of their contemporaries was corrupt can hardly lu' avouched by the modems, the mightiest of -whom hâve but barely approached them. Dante, Petrareh, Ariosto, and Tasso, were ail the darlings of the contemporary reader. Dante's

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poem Nvas celebrated long before his death ; and, not long after it, States negotiated for his ashes, and disputed for the sites of the composition of the Divina Coramedia. Petrarch was crowned in the Capitol. Ariosto^vas permittedto pass free by the public robber who had read the Orlando Furioso, I would not recommend Mr. Words\\orth to try thesame experiment with his Smugglers. Tasso, notwithstanding the criticisms of the Cruscanti, >vould hâve been croNvned in the Capitol, but for his death,

It is easy to prove the immédiate popularity of the chief poets of the only modem nation in Europe that bas a poetical language, the Italian. in our own, Shakspeare, Spenser, Jonson, Waller, Dryden, Congreve, Pope, Young, Shenstone, Thomson, Johnson, Goldsmith, Gray, were ail as popular in their lives as since. Gray's Elegy pleased instantly and eternally. His Odes did not , nor yet do they, please likehis Elegy. Milton's politics kept him down. But the Epigramof Dryden, and the very sale of his work, in proportion to the less reading time of its publication, provo him tohave been honoured by his contemporaries. I w ill venture to assert, that the sale of the Paradisc Lost was greater in the first four years after its publication, than that of « The Excursion » in tlie same number, with the différence of nearly a century and a half between them of time, and of thousands in point of gênerai readers. Xotwithstanding iMr. ^^'ords- V orth's liaving pressed Milton into his service as one of those not presently popular, to favour his own purpose of proving that our grandchildren will read lùin (the said William Words worth), I would recommend him to begin first witli our grandmothers. But he need not be alarmed; he may yet live to see ail the envies pass away, as Darwin and Seward, and

Hoole, and Hole, and Hoyle hâve passed away ; but their declension will not be bis ascension; he is essentially a bad writer, and ail the failures of otbers can never strengthen him. He may bave a sect, but be will never bave a public; and « bis audience » will ahvays be « few » witbout being ((/li, » — exceptfor Bedlam.

It may be asked, s\hy, having this opinion of tbe présent state of poetry in England, and baving bad it long, as my friends and otbers well knew — possessing, or baving possessed too, as a writer, the ear of tbe public for tbe time being — I bave notadopted a différent plan in my own compositions, and endeavoured to correct rather than encourage the taste of the day. To this I would answer, that it is easier to perceive tbe wrong than to pursue the right, and that I bave never rontemplated the prospect » of fiUing (with Peter Bell, see its Préface) permanently a station in the literature of the country. » Those who know me best, know this, and that 1 bave been considerably astonished at thetemporary success of my Works, having llattered no person and no party, and expressed opinions which are not those of the gênerai reader. Could I hâve anticipated the degree of attention which had been accorded me, assuredly I would hâve stu- (lied more to deserve it. But I hâve lived in far countries abroad, or in the agitating world at home, which was not favourable to study or reflection ; so that almost ail I bave written has been mère passion, — passion, it is true, of différent kinds, but ahvays passion : for in me (if it be not an Irishism to say so) my indifférence was a kind of passion, the resuit of expérience, and not the philosophy of nature. \\'riting grows a habit, like a woman's gallantry; there are women who bave had nn intrigue, but few who bave had

but one only; so Uiere are millions of men who bave never written a book, but few who bave written only one. And tbus, having written once, I wrote on; encouraged no doubt by tlie success of llie moment, yet by no means anticipating its duration, and I Mil! venture to say, scarcely even A\ishing it. But then I did other things besides write, which by no means contributed eitlier to impruve my writings or niy prosperity.

I bave thus expressed publicly upon the poetry of the day the opinion I bave long entertained and expressed of it to ail wbo bave asked it, and to some who would rather not bave beard it : as I told Moore not very long ago, « we are ail wrong exccpt Rogers, Crabbe, and Campbell. » AVithout being old in years, I am old in days, and do not feel the adéquate spirit within me to attempt a work a\ hich should show v\hat I think right in poetry, and must content myself with having denounced wbat is A\rong. There are, I trust, younger spirits rising up in England, wbo, escaping the contagion which bas swept av\ay poetry from our literature, w ill recall it to their country, such as it once was and may still be.

In the mean time, the best sign of amendment will be repentance, and new and fréquent éditions of Pope and Dryden.

There will be found as comforiable metapbysics, and teu times more poetry in the « Essay on Man, » than in the M Excursion. » If yuu search for passion, where is it to be found stronger than in the epistle from Eloisa to Abelard, or in Palamon and Arcite? Do you wish for invention, imagination, sublimity, character? seek them in the Rapt of tbe Lock, the Fables of Dryden, the Ode of Saint Cecilia's Day, and Absalom and Achitophel : you will discover in thèse two