Hadst nought to dread-in thy own weakness shielded, A monument, whose cement hath been guilt! And hew'd down, with an unsuspected sword, Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell All found a place in thy philosophy. The means were worthy, and the end is won I would not do by thee as thou hast done!"—pp. 81–83. It is a subject of great surprize to the Countess, that, as Byron has shown in his works so much knowledge of the female character, he should miscalculate so much upon their dispositions, for she thinks that Byron showed great misapprehension of the sex when he complains that Lady Byron never relented his absence. She properly observes, that his lordship forgot how that absence was filled up, and Lady Blessington took the liberty once of telling him as much. Upon her own part, she makes use of her competency as a judge of her sex, and thus breaks out into the following pathetic strain. "How few men understand the feelings of women! Sensitive, and easily wounded as we are, obliged to call up pride to support us in trials that always leave fearful marks behind, how often are we compelled to assume the semblance of coldness and indifference when the heart inly bleeds and the decent composure, put on with our visiting garments to appear in public, and, like them. worn for a few hours, are with them laid aside; and all the dreariness, the heart-consuming cares, that woman alone can know, return to make us feel, that though we may disguise our sufferings from others, and deck our countenance with smiles, we cannot deceive ourselves, and are but the more miserable from the constraint we submit to! A woman only can understand a woman's heart-we cannot, dare not, complain-sympathy is denied us, because we must not lay open the wounds that excite it; and even the most legitimate feelings are too sacred in female estimation to be exposed-thus, while we nurse the grief "that lies too deep for tears," and consumes alike health and peace, a man may with impunity express all, nay, more than he feels-court and meet sympathy, while his leisure hours are cheered by occupations and pleasures, the latter too often such as ought to prove how little he stood in need of compassion, except for his vices."-pp. 85, 86. Lord Byron told Lady Blessington, that the number of anonymous letters received by him from English ladies would fill a large volume; but he never noticed one of them. As to the religion of the noble poet, she says, that he was by no means an unbeliever: she admits him, however, to have been a sceptic: she is certain of his firm faith in the immortality of the soul, and that he was a sworn foe to materialism, tracing every defect to which we are subject to the infirmities entailed on us by the prison of clay in which the heavenly spark is confined. But as nothing in the way of praise by Lady Blessington is ever uttered without its accompanying antidote, so the favourable view given of Byron's religious principles, only ushers in a fresh accusation. She says, that the consciousness of his defects rendered him less tolerant to those of others, and that in fine, a close intimacy with Lord Byron left on the mind a heterogeneous mass of conflicting impressions, which puzzled the observer to form any conclusion out of them. His susceptibility to censorious observations was a remarkable weakness of his character, but it was not more annoying to those around him, as his impatience of contradiction. A great cause of the formation of Byron's character, Lady Blessington thinks is the morbid feeling on the subject of his deformity: she represents him as manifesting great emotion when his attention is turned to it, and she exhibits him on one occasion as speaking to the following effect:: "I often look back on the days of my childhood, and am astonished at the recollection of the intensity of my feelings at that period;-first impressions are indelible. My poor mother, and after her my school-fellows, by their taunts, led me to consider my lameness as the greatest misfortune, and I have never been able to conquer this feeling. It requires great natural goodness of disposition, as well as reflection, to conquer the corroding bitterness that deformity engenders in the mind, and which, while preying on itself, sours one towards all the world. I have read, that where personal deformity exists, it may be always traced in the face, however handsome the face may be. I am sure that what is meant by this is, that the consciousness of it gives to the countenance an habitual expression of discontent, which I believe is the case: yet it is too bad (added Byron with bitterness) that, because one had a defective foot, one cannot have a Derfect face."-pp. 129, 130. Two points of ambition are attributed by the Countess to Byron, the one to be thought the greatest poet of the day, the other a nobleman of fashion, two characters which produced such anomalies of conduct and sentiments, as led absolutely to the institution of a sort of jealousy between Byron in one character, and Byron in the other. When the combat began between the rivals, Lady Blessington tells us, that it gave rise to a most amusing scene. Numerous translations into foreign languages were made of portions of his works. The great bulk of them completely destroyed the sense, and when the noble author lighted on a passage which was particularly execrable, he was excited almost to fury. The author states, that he always spoke of his works with derision, saying he could write better, but that he choose to write down to the public taste. There is certainly no sincerity in this statement, and the last canto's of Childe Harold, present the evidence of being wrought with a vast extent of labour. Byron never wished to be old it is said, and he is represented as making declarations such as, "Let me not live to be old, give me youth, which is the fever of reason, and not age, which is the palsy." But, mayhap, this was the repetition of the fable of the Old Man and Death. Had Byron's sentiments been known before his dissolution, would he have surrendered his life so easily, if the messenger of death had given him his option? At a more advanced period of her acquaintance with Byron, Lady Blessington seems to have ascertained the justice of criticizing, with lenity, his sayings and doings, inasmuch as they proceed from the impulse of the moment, and scarcely ever from premeditated malice. He cannot resist, according to her understanding of his character, expressing whatever comes into his mind; and the least shade of the ridiculous is seized by him at a glance, and portrayed with a facility and felicity that must encourage the propensity to ridicule, which is inherent in him. All the malice of his nature has lodged itself on his lips and the fingers of his right hand-for there is none I am persuaded to be found in his heart, which has more of good than most people give him credit for, except those who have lived with him on habits of intimacy. He enters into society as children do their play-ground, for relaxation and amusement, after his mind has been strained to its utmost stretch, and that he feels the necessity of unbending it. Ridicule is his play; it amuses him perhaps the more that he sees it amuses others, and much of its severity is mitigated by the boyish glee, and laughing sportiveness, with which his sallies are uttered. All this is felt when he is conversing, but unfortunately it cannot be conveyed to the reader. Curiously enough, the Countess of Guiccioli took an exception to the poem of Don Juan as its immorality shocked her! Byron, to please her, gave up writing it for some time, and got permission at last to resume it, only on the pledge that he would mend Don Juan's manners as well as his morality; and he told Lady Bles sington, that not only would he comply with that promise, but that it was his intention to make Juan a Methodist! Whilst on the subject, he mentioned further, that he once received an anonymous letter on the subject of Don Juan, with a beautiful illustrative drawing, under which was the following inscription: "When Byron wrote the first canto of Don Juan, love, that had often guided his pen, resigned it to sensuality-and modesty, covering her face with her veil to hide her blushes and dry her tears, fled from him for ever." This drawing represented love and modesty turning their backs on wicked Byron, and sensuality, a fat, flushed, wingless cupid, presented him with a pen. Infirmity of purpose was a marked fault of Byron's; and the Countess adds, that his treatment of women may be traced to this cause, for as she told him, he was too selfish and indolent not to have given cause to those who had more than a common interest in him to be dissatisfied. She adds, that it is such men as Byron who complain of women; they touch not the chords that give sweet music in woman's breast, but strike-with a bold and careless hand —those that jar and send forth discord. Byron has a false notion on the subject of women; he fancies that they are all disposed to be tyrants, and that the moment they know their power they abuse it. There is a striking specimen of good sense in the following observations, attributed by the author to Byron, on the subject of hypochondriasm. Experience must have taught him the true nature of this malady, and we are induced, not more on this account, than on the intrinsic evidence of the remarks themselves, to place confidence in them. ...Real ailments may be cured, (said he,) but imaginary ones, either moral or physical, admit of no remedy. People analyze the supposed causes of maladies of the mind; and if the sufferer be rich, well-born, well-looking, and clever in any way, they conclude he, or she, can have no cause for unhappiness; nay, assign the cleverness, which is often the source of unhappiness, as among the adventitious gifts that increase, or ought to increase, felicity, and pity not the unhappiness they cannot understand. They take the same view of imaginary physical ailments, never reflecting that "happiness (or health) is often but in opinion ;" and that he who believes himself wretched or ill, suffers perhaps more than he who has real cause for wretchedness, or who is labouring under disease with less acute sensibility to feel his troubles, and nerves subdued by ill health, which prevents his suffering from bodily ills as severely as does the hypochondriac from imaginary ones. The irritability of genius (continued Byron) is nothing more or less than a delicacy of organization, which gives a susceptibility to impressions to which coarser minds are never subject, and cultivation and refinement but increase it, until the unhappy victim becomes a prey to hypochondriasm.'"-pp. 217, 218. Remarks are recorded which have been made by Byron on several distinguished political and literary characters of the day. He uni formly leans to the eulogistic side, and seems to confine himself altogether to the good qualities of the individuals. In the manner he speaks of Mackintosh, Moore, Lord Erskine, &c. He characterized Canning's moral qualities well, when he said that fortune would have saved him from tergiversation, the bare suspicion of which is destructive to the confidence which a statesman always should inspire. Byron frequently reverted to the inventions of Sir Walter Scott, varying only the terms on every occasion of sincere praise. He has been heard to say that he never rose from the perusal of any of his works that he did not find himself in a better disposition than when he began. He used to estimate, with great precision, the qualifications of Sir Walter as a writer, and considered him to be the only successful genius who could be cited, as being generally beloved as a man, as he was admired as an author. Byron's friendship for Scott showed him off in the best attire in which his character could be presented, for here he could not apply those suspicions of which he was so profuse to others, being apt to attribute every mark of respect or good will paid him as springing from a selfish motive. In the case of Scott, a suggestion of this kind would be absurd, and hence the uninterrupted course of his admiration for the great Waverley master. But a strange anomaly in Byron is particularly noticed by the Conntess. An exquisite taste was displayed by him in descriptive poetry, whilst his modes of life was utterly destitute of such a feeling. Fine scenery, she says, produced little effect on his mind, and he had no adequate comprehension of the elegancies or comforts of life. She declares, that a bad and vulgar taste predominated in all his equipments, whether in dress or furniture, and, having seen his bed in Genoa, she does not hesitate to say, that it was the most gaudily vulgar thing she ever beheld. His carriages and liveries were all in the same bad taste, being a display of affectation, and a regard to tawdry ornaments. One of the few persons in London, whose society served to correct Byron's predisposition to misanthropy, was Lord Holland, whose benignity he eulogizes beyond all bounds. He never heard of a second opinion being entertained of that nobleman, such are the charm of his manners, the cultivation of his mind, his agreeable conversation, his bland temper, and his hospitality. This compliment contrasts very strongly with the expression of his hostility to Southey, in respect of whom he said, "It is difficult for me, who detests an author, not to detest his works, and there are some I dislike so cordially, that I am aware of my incompetency to give an impartial opinion of their writings, Southey, for example, is one of these." The Countess listened with impatience always to Byron, when he reflected upon fashionable society in England, and particularly when his sarcasm was directed against women. Her observations on the source of these attacks are not without their value. "Byron has not lived sufficiently long in England, and has left it at toc |