him in good spirits. He frequently talked
of M*** as of a person of gigantic intellect —
he could by no language do justice to his
abilities — all other men were pigmies to
him. He loved Wingfield indeed more — he
was an earlier and a dearer friend, and one
whom he could never regret loving — but in
talent he knew no equal to M***. In him
he had to mourn the loss of a guide, philo-
LIFE OP LORD BYRON. 133
sopher ; and friend, while in Wingfield he
lost a friend only, though one before whom
he could have wished to have gone his
long journey. Lord Byron's language con-
cerning Mr. M*** was equally strong and
remarkable. He affirmed that it was not
in the mind of those who did not know him,
to conceive such a man; that his superiority
was too great to excite envy — that he was
awed by him— that there was the mark of
an immortal creature in whatever he did^
and yet he was gone — that such a man
should have been given over to death, so
early in life, bewildered him. In referring to
the honours M*** acquired at the University,
he declared that nevertheless he was a most
confirmed atheist, indeed offensively so, for
he did not scruple to avow his opinions
in all companies.
Once only did Lord Byron ever express,
in distinct terms to me, a direct attack
upon the tenets of the Christian Reli-
134 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
gion ; I postponed my answer, saying upon
this I had much to write to him. He after-
wards reminded me of my having said so,
but, at the same time, begged me not to
enter upon metaphysics, upon which he
never could agree with me. In answering
him, I said, " If I have not written the
much with which I have threatened you, it
has been owing, not solely to my avocations,
but partly to a consciousness of my subject
being too weighty for me, and not adapted
to a hasty discussion. A passage in your
letter of the 7th of this month, beginning :
' Areyou aware that your religion is im-
pious ?' &c., incited me to a determination,
in spite of the indolence I begin to feel on
argumentative topics, to call you a pur-
blind 'philosopher, and to break a lance
with you in defence of a cause on which I
rest so much hope. I still dread that my
feebleness may be laid to the account, and
esteemed the feebleness of the cause itself.
*- OFTHt
UNIVERSITY
or
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 136
" By proposing to drop metaphysics you
cut down the much I meditated. I will
not pursue them at present, though I think
them the prime subjects of intellectual en-
joyment. But, though I drop my point, in-
stead of couching my lance, I do not mean
to say that I will not yet try my strength.
Meanwhile, though neither Mr. H**'s
glow, nor my fervour, has wrought convic-
tion hitherto ; this I am sure of, that you
will not shut your mind against it, whenever
your understanding begins to feel ground
to rest upon. I compare such philosophers
as you, and Hume, and Gibbon, (—1 have put
you into company that you are not ashamed
of—) to mariners wrecked at sea, buffeting
the waves for life, and at last carried by
a current towards land, where, meeting with
rugged and perpendicular rocks, they decide
that it is impossible to land, and, though
some of their companions point out a firm
136 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
beach, exclaim — ' Deluded things ! there
can be no beach, unless you melt down
these tremendous rocks — no, our ship is
wrecked, and to the bottom we must go —
all we have to do is to swim on, till Fate
overwhelms us.'— You do not deny the de-
pravity of the human race — well, that is
one step gained — it is allowing that we are
cast away — it is, figuratively, our ship-
wreck. Behold us, then, all scattered upon
the ocean, and all anxious to be saved —
all, at least, willing to be on terra firma ;
the Humes, the Gibbons, the Voltaires, as
well as the Newtons, the Lockes, the John-
sons, &c. The latter make for the beach ;
the former exhaust their strength about
the rocks, and sink, declaring them insur-
mountable. The incarnation of a Deity !
vicarious atonement ! the innocent suffer-
ing for the guilty! the seeming inconsis-
tencies of the Old Testament, and the dis-
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 137
crepancies of the new ! &c. &c. ! are rocks
which I am free to own are not easily melted
down ; but I am certain that they may be
viewed from a point on the beach in less
deteiTing forms, lifting their heads into the
clouds indeed, yet adding sublimity to the
prospect of the shores on which we have
landed, and by no means impeding our
progress upon it. In less metaphorical lan-
guage, my lord, it appears to me, that
freethinkers are generally more eager to
strengthen their objections than solicitous
for conviction ; and prefer wandering into
proud inferences, to pursuing the evidences
of facts ; so contrary to the example given
to us in all judicial investigations, where
testimony precedes reasoning, and is the
ground of it. The corruption of human
nature being self-evident, it is very natural
to inquire the cause of that corruption, and
as natural to hope that there may be a re-
138 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
medy for it. The cause and the remedy
have been stated.
" How are we to ascertain the truth of
them? Not by arguing mathematically,
but by first examining the proofs adduced ;
and if they are satisfactory, to use our
reasoning powers, as far as they will go, to
clear away the difficulties which may attend
them. This is the only mode of investiga-
ting with any hope of conviction. It is, to
return to my metaphor, the beach on which
we may find a footing, and be able to look
around us ; on which breach, I trust, I shall
one day or other see you taking your stand.
I have done — and pray observe, that I have
kept my word — I have not entered on me-
taphysics on the subject of Revelation. I
have merely stated the erroneous proceed-
ing of freethinldng Philosophy ; and, on the
other hand, the natural and rational proceed-
inp' of the mind in the inquiry after truth :
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 139
—the conviction must, and I am confident
will, be the operation of your own mind."
Lord Byron noticed, indeed, what I had
written, but in a very discouraging manner.
He would have nothing to do with the sub-
ject — we should all go down together, he said,
" So,'* quoting St. Paul, " let us eat and
drink, for to-morrow we die ;" — he felt sa-
tisfied in his creed, for it was better to sleep
than to wake.
Such were the opinions which occa-
sionally manifested themselves in this
unhappy young man, and which gave me a
degree of pain proportioned to the affection
I could not but feel for him; while my
hopes of his ultimately breaking from the
trammels of infidelity, which were never re-
linquished, received from time to time fresh
excitement from some expressions that
appeared to me to have an opposite ten-
dency. He frequently recurred to his
140 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
playful raillery upon the subject of my
co-operation in the murder, as he called it,
of poor Blackett. Upon one occasion, he
mentioned him in opposition to Kii'ke
White, whom, setting aside what he called
his bigotry, he classed with Chatterton.
He expressed wonder that White was so
little known at Cambridge, where he said
nobody knew any thing about him until
his death. He added, that for himself, he
should have taken pride in making his ac-
quaintance, and that his very prejudices were
calculated to render him respectable. Such
occasional expressions as these, in spite of
the inconsistency which they displayed,
furnished food for my hope that I should
one day see him sincerely embracing
Christianity, and escaping from the vortex
of the Atheistical society, in which, having
entered at all, it was only wonderful to me
that he was so moderate in his expressions
as in oeneral he had hitherto been. He
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 141
told me that both his friend, Juvenal Hodg-
son, and myself, had beset him upon the
subject of religion, and that my warmth
was nothing, compared to his fire — his
reward would surely be great in heaven,
he said, if he were half as careful in the
matter of his own salvation, as he was
voluntarily anxious concerning his friends.
Lord Byron added, that he gave honour to
us both, but conviction to neither.
The mention of Kirke White brought
to his mind an embryo epic poet who was
at Cambridge, Mr. Townsend, who had
published the plan and specimen of a work,
to be called " Armageddon." Lord Byron s
opinion of this is already given in his own
note, to a line in his Hints from Horace
(see page 111); but in referring to him, he
thought that perhaps his anticipating the
Day of Judgment was too presumptuous — it
seemed something like instructing the Lord
142 RECOLLECTIONS OP THE
what he should do, and might put a cap-
tious person in mind of the hne,
" And fools rush in where angels fear to tread."
This he said, without wishing to cavil
himself, but other people would; he
nevertheless hoped, that Mr. Townsend
would complete his work, in spite of Milton.
Lord Byron's moral feelings were some-
times evinced in a manner which the writ-
ings and opinions of his later life render
remarkable. When he was abroad, he
was informed that the son of one of his
tenants had seduced a respectable young
person in his own station in hfe. On this
he expressed his opinion very strongly.
Although he felt it impossible strictly to
perform what he conceived our first duty,
to abstain from doing harm, yet he thought
our second duty was to exert all our power
to repair the harm we may have done. In
the particular case in question, the parties
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 143
ought forthwith to marry, as they were in
equal circumstances — if the girl had been
the inferior of the seducer, money would be
even then an insufficient compensation. He
would not sanction in his tenants what he
would not do himself. He had, indeed, as God
knew, committed many excesses, but as he
had determined to amend, and latterly kept
to his determination, this young man must
follow his example. He insisted that the
seducer should restore the unfortunate girl
to society.
The manner in which Lord Byron ex-
pressed his particular feelings respecting
his own life, was melancholy to a painful
degree. At one time, he said, that he was
about to visit Cambridge, but that M * * *
was gone, and Hobhouse was also absent ;
and except the person who had invited him,
there was scarcely any to welcome him.
From this his thoughts fell into a gloomy
channel— he was alone in the world, and
144 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
only three-and-twenty ; he could be no more
than alone, when he should have nearly
finished his course ; he had, it was true,
youth to begin again with, but he had no one
with whom to call back the laughing period
of his existence. He was struck with the
singular circumstance that few of his friends
had had a quiet death ; but a quiet life, he
said, was more important. He afterwards
acknowledged that he felt his life had been
altogether opposed to propriety, and even
decency; and that it was now become a
dreary blank, with his friends gone, either
by death or estrangement.
While he was still continuing at New-
stead, he wrote me a letter, which affected
me deeply, upon the occasion of another
death with which he was shocked— he lost
one whom he had dearly loved in the more
smiling season of his earlier youth ; but
he quoted—" I have almost forgot the taste
of grief, and supped full of horrors." He
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 145
could not then weep for an event which a
few years before would have overwhelmed
him. He appeared to be afflicted in youth,
he thought, with the greatest unhappiness
of old age, to see those he loved fall about
him, and stand solitary before he was
withered. He had not, hke others, do-
mestic resources ; and his internal anticipa-
tions gave him no prospect in time or in
eternity, except the selfish gratification of
living longer than those who were better.
At this period he expressed great wretched-
ness; but he turned from himself, and
knowing that I was contemplating a retire-
ment into the country, he proposed a plan
for me, dictated by great kindness of heart,
by which I was the more sensibly touched,
as it occupied his mind at such a moment.
He wished me to settle in the little town of
Southwell, the particulars of which he ex-
plained to me. Upon these subjects I wrote
to him as follows, on the 27th of October.
L
146 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
" Your letter of the 1 1th made such an
impression upon me, that I felt as if I had
a volume to say upon it ; yet, it is but too
true, that the sensibihty which vents itself
in many words carries with it the appear-
ance of affectation, and hardly ever pleases
in real life. The few sentences of your
letter relative to the death of friends, and
to your feelings, excited in my mind no
common degree of sympathy ; but I must
be content to express it in a common way,
and briefly.
Death has, indeed, begun to draw your
attention very early. I hardly knew what
it was, or thought of it till I went at the age
of five-and-twenty to reside in the West
Indies, and there he began to show himself
to me frequently. My friends, young and
old, were carried to the grave with a rapi-
dity that astonished me, and I was myself
in a manner snatched out of his grasp. This,
and the other sad concomitants of a West
LIFE OP LORD BYRON. ]47
Indian existence, determined me to adopt,
at whatever loss, any alternative by which
I might plant my family in England. Here
I have grown old without seeing much of
him near me, though when he has ap-
proached me it has been in his most dread-
ful form. I am led to these recollections
from comparing your experience at three-
and-twenty with mine long after that age.
Your losses, and in a country where health
and life have more stable foundations than
in torrid chmates, have been extraordinary ;
and that too within the hmit, I beUeve, of
one or two years. I thank you for your
confidential communication at the bottom
of the stanza which so much delighted me.
How truly do I wish that the being to
whom that verse now belongs had lived,
and lived yours! What your obligations
to her would have been in that case is in-
conceivable ; and, as it is, what a gratifica-
tion would it be to me to beheve, that in
L2
148 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
her death she has left you indebted to her;
to beheve that these Knes
( Well — I will dream that we may meet again,
And woo the vision to my vacant breasf —
are not merely the glow of a poetic imagi-
nation, nor the fleeting inspiration of sor-
row ; but a well-founded hope, leading to
the persuasion that there is another and a
better world.
Your reflections on the forlorn state of
your existence are very painful, and very
strongly expressed. I confess I am at a
loss how to preach comfort. It would be
very easy for me to resort to common-
places, and refer you to study and the en-
joyment of the intellect; but I know too
well that happiness must find its abode in
the heart, and not in the head. Voltaire,
who you know is no apostle with me, ex-
presses this pleasingly ;
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 149
* Est-il done vrai, grands Dieux! il ne faut plus que
j'aime !
La foule des beaux arts, dont je veux tour a tour
Remplir le vuide de moi-meme,
N'est point encore assez pour remplacer ramour.'
He evidently means love, emphatically so
called ; but kind affections of every nature
are sources of happiness, and more lasting
ones than that violent flame, v^^hich, like the
pure air of the chemist, when separated
from common air, intoxicates, and accele-
rates the term of its existence. Those
affections are the only remedy I see for
you. The more you lose, the more should
you strive to repair your losses. At your
age the door of friendship cannot be shut ;
but man, and woman too, is imperfect;
you must make allowances, and though
human nature is in a sad state, there are
many worthy of your regard. I am certain
you may yet go through life surrounded by
friends,— real friends, not—
1.^0 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
' Flatterers of the festal hour.
The heartless parasites of present cheer.''
I am truly sorry for the wretchedness
you are suffering, and the more, because I
am certain of your not having any pathetic
cant in your character. But while I think
you have reason to be unhappy, I confide
in the strength of your understanding, to
get the better of the evils of life, and to
enter upon a new pursuit of happiness.
You see the volume will come, but beHeve
me it comes from the heart.
I thank you most kindly for that part of
your letter which relates to my purposed
retirement into the country. You judge
rightly that I should not wish to be entirely
out of society, but my bent on this head is
more on account of my family than myself;
for I could live alone, that is alone with
them. I often avoid company; but it has
been one of the greatest pleasures of my
life to see them coveted in society. Your
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 151
account of Southwell delights me; and
the being within reach of the metropolis
would of itself outweigh the charm of the
picturesque, though a charm, and a great
one, it has. The being within a ride of
you, however, is the decisive attraction. I
will, then, from this time keep Southwell in
view for my retreat, and at a future day we
will take our flight. I am going to dine
with the Ionian to-day. He and Mrs.
Wright carried me off suddenly last night
to the Haymarket to see Mathews, who
performs no more in London this winter,
for which I am sorry, as I am meditating
another ordeal at the Lyceum, in which he
might have been of use to me. Mr. Wright
feels himself honoured in your desire of
being personally acquainted with him, and
I shall be proud of being the introducer of
such friends. You think, no doubt, that I
have communicated your poem to him, and
you would not do me justice if you thought
152 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
otherwise. He is the most intimate friend
I have, though many years younger than
myself. We accord very generally in our
opinions, and we do not differ as to Childe
Harold, I meant to say something about
the progress of the Poem, but I must
postpone it. May peace and happiness
await you."
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 153
CHAPTER VII.
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, \VHILE IN THE
PRESS.
It was not without great difficulty that I
could induce Lord Byron to allow his new
poem to be published with his name. He
dreaded that the old enmity of the critics in
the north which had been envenomed by his
Satire, as well as the Southern scribblers,
whom he had equally enraged, would
overwhelm his " Pilgrimage." This was
his first objection — his second was, that he
was anxious the world should not fix upon
himself the character of Childe Harold.
Nevertheless he said, if Mr. Murray posi-
tively required his name, and I agreed with
him in opinion, he would venture ; and there-
154 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
fore he wished it to be given as " By the
Author of Enghsh Bards and Scotch Re-
viewers." He promised to give me some
smaller poems to put at the end ; and though
he originally intended his Remarks on the
Romaic to be printed with the Hints from
Horace, he felt they would more aptly
accompany the Pilgrimage. He had kept
no journals while abroad, but he meant to
manufacture some notes from his letters to
his mother. The advertisement which he
originally intended to be prefixed to the
poem was something different from the
preface that appeared. The paragraph
beginning " a Fictitious Character is intro-
duced, for the sake of giving some con^
nexion to the piece, which, however, makes
no pretensions to regularity," — was conti-
nued thus at first, but was afterwards
altered.
" It has been suggested to me by friends.
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 155
on whose opinions I set a high value, that
in the fictitious character of ' Childe Ha-
rold/ I may incur the suspicion of having
drawn ' from myself.' This I beg leave once
for all to disclaim. I wanted a character to
give some connexion to the poem, and the
one adopted suited my purpose as well as
any other. In some very trivial particulars,
and those merely local, there might be
grounds for such an idea ; but in the main
points, I should hope none whatever. My
reader will observe, that when the author
speaks in his own person, he assumes a
very different tone from that of
* The cheerless thing, the man without a friend.'
I crave pardon for this egotism, which pro-
ceeds from my wish to discard any proba-
ble imputation of it to the text."
This it appears had been written before
the death of his mother, and his mournful
156 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
sojourn at Newstead afterwards. It was
during that period that he sent me the
advertisement, upon which he had interhned
after his quotation of
" at least till death had deprived him of
his nearest connexions."
While Childe Harold was preparing to
be put into the printer's hands, Lord Byron
was very anxious for the speedy appear-
ance of the Imitation of Horace, with which
Cawthorn was desirous of proceeding with
all despatch, but which I was nevertheless
most desirous of retarding at least, if not of
suppressing altogether. Lord Byron wrote
to me from Newstead several times upon the
subject. I forbore to reply until I could
send him the first proof of the Pilgrimage,
when I wrote the following.
" I saw Murray yesterday — if he has
adhered to his intention, you will receive
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 157
a proof of ' Childe Harold's Pilgrimage'
before this letter. I am delighted with its
appearance. Allowing you to be suscepti-
ble of the pleasure of genuine praise, you
would have had a fine treat could you have
been in the room with the ring of Gyges
on your finger, while we were discussing
the pubhcation of the Poem ; not, perhaps,
from what I or Mr. Murray said, but from
what he reported to have been said by
Aristarchus, into whose hands the * Childe'
had somehow fallen between the time of
Murray's absence and return ; at least, so
sayeth the latter. This happening unknown
to you, and, indeed, contrary to your
intention, removes every idea of courting
applause; but, it is not a little gratifying to
me to know that what struck me on the first
perusal to be admirable, has also forcibly
struck Mr. GifFord. Of your Satire he
spoke highly; but this Poem he pro-
nounces, not only the best you have written,
158 RECOLLECTIONS OP THE
but equal to any of the present age, allow-
ing, however, for its being unfinished, which
he regrets. Murray assured me, that he
expressed himself very warmly. With the
fiat of such a judge, will not your muse
be kindled to the completion of a work,
that would, if completed, irrevocably fix
your fame? In your short preface you talk
of adding concluding Cantos, if encouraged
by public approbation : this is no longer
necessary, for if Gifford approve who shall
disapprove ? In my last I begged you to
devote some of your time to finishing this
Poem, which I am proud of having insti-
gated you to give precedence before your
' Horatian Hints.' I may now repeat my
request with tenfold weight. You have
ample time, for this is not the season for
pubhshing, and it will be all the better for
proceeding slowly through the press. How
pleasantly then may you overtake yourself;
and, with some little saerfices of opinion,
LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 159
give the world a work that shall delight it,
and at once set at defiance the pack of
waspish curs that take pleasure in barking
at you. As for the subject it will grow under
your hands — your letters to your mother
will bring recollections not only for notes
but for the verse. — Greece is a never-
failing stream — then the voyage home,
the approach to England, the death (for
the not identifying yourself with the tra-
velling Childe is a wish not possible to re-
alize) of friends, and particularly of your
mother before you saw her; lastly, the
scenes on your return to the ' vast and
venerable pile,' with the Childe's resolution
of taking his part earnestly in that assembly
where his birth, by giving him a place,
calls upon him to devote his time and
talents to the good of his country. My
eagerness carries me, perhaps, too far — I
would give any thing to see you shining at
once as a poet and a legislator. With re-
160 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE
spect to the sacrifice of opinion, I must
explain myself: I am neither so absurd nor