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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 http://archive.org/details/spiritualintervi01byro 
 
SPIRITUAL INTERVIEW 
 
 WITH 
 
 LORD BYRON. 
 
 IN WHICH HIS LORDSHIP GAVE HIS^OPINION 
 AND FEELINGS ABOUT 
 
 HIS NEW MONUMENT 
 
 AND GOSSIP ABOUT THE LITEKATUKH OF HIS OWN ASD 
 
 THE PRESENT D*AY, WITH SOME INTERESTING 
 
 INFORMATION ABOUT THE 
 
 ' SIFXIRIT -WOIR-LID. 
 
 WITH NOTES EXPLANATORY AND 
 
 ELUCIDATORY. 
 
 By Quevedo Redivivus. 
 
 " To have, when the original is dust, 
 
 A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust." 
 
 Don Juan. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 SAMUEL PALMER AND" SONS, 
 
 7, CRANBOURN STREET, W., 75, STRAND, W. C„ 
 
 AND 120, CASSLAND ROAD, E. 
 

 A SPIRITUAL INTERVIEW 
 
 WITH 
 
 LORD BYRON. 
 
 Having obtained the address, and a slight insight 
 into Spiritual matters from a small shilling book, the 
 production of Mr. Cooke, I believe of the firm of 
 Maskelyue and Cooke, the well known conjui'ors, 
 which bye the bye treats them and the wholes thing 
 in rather an unfair manner ; I knocked at the door 
 of a quiet looking house in Hart Street, the residence 
 of a gentleman, whose name I shall not mention, who 
 holds himSelf out as a " Materializing Medium," 
 which for the information of my readers means a 
 gentleman with whose form or by whose means, as it 
 is variously explained by the Spiritualists, the Spirit 
 becomes visible. It was about, seven in the evening 
 when I knocked, the door was opened by a neat look- 
 ing maid, and my card preceeding me, I Was ushered 
 into the drawing-room, on the table of which I 
 noticed, a copy of the Medium,, the Glowworm, and 
 some other spiritual papers, <o me of Swedenborg's works 
 and a well bound copy of the tl Gates Ajar." I had 
 hardly time to comtemplate these thoroughly when 
 the door was opened, and a irentlemanly looking, thin, 
 p ile faced young man entered, dressed in deep mourn- 
 ing. After introducing himself as the person whom 
 I had come to see, lie said he was sorry he could not 
 srive me a seance that night, as he was engaged, but 
 if I would call, it was Tuesday then, next Th irsday, 
 he would do all he could, that is if the Spirits were 
 
 As$ 
 
 
 49966 
 
4 
 
 propitious, as the Spirits like human beings had wills 
 of their own, and often refused, to come to suit the 
 convenience of stritjigWi-fi. As I descended the stairs, 
 the genih'irian asked me in an ordinary way who was 
 the individual 1 wished to see. I told him it -was 
 Lord Byron, when he bowed me to the door and I 
 left. 
 
 Precisely at the hour agreed upon, which was 
 ii<raiu seven in the evening, 1 was received by the 
 Medium in that same drawing-room, which he ex- 
 plained had been tilted up, as was usual, for the occa- 
 sion. A long screen made of curtains or shawls on a 
 frame had been place:! across the room, in front of 
 the folding doors, dividing, the back from the front 
 drawing-room, (the doors themselves had not been 
 taken off I noticed and there was a door leading from 
 the staircase into the back room) in the centre, 
 behind the screen, was a single chair; there was gas 
 in both rooms, though turned down very low, and 
 when the shutters were closed the rooms were in 
 almost perfect darkness. I may mention that before 
 this last had been done, I entered into a solemn 
 promise not to touch or disturb or approach the screen, 
 which as my object was curiosity, and not the idea of 
 penetrating auy mystery I cannot be blamed, for 1 
 may say, that had I done anything of the kind it 
 Avould have been a gross abuse of the civility with 
 which 1 had been received : the doors were then all 
 locked, and tl«e Medium having said that he thought 
 we should be successful, entered the back room where 
 the light had been turned up a little, and I waited 
 opposite in the darkness. In less than a minute we 
 heard loud raps all over the room, on the ceiling, 
 floor, doors and table, and the Medium hollowed out, 
 in an excited voice, " Don't look at me, shut your 
 eyes, I'm materializing, you will see me in the chair. 
 ** Who are you;" I asked, when I was thunderstruck by 
 bearing, " Lord Byron, don't look at me, by G — 4 
 
 
tlon't look at me fcill-X tell you." I must coufess that 
 I felt a good deal inclined to shudder while this was 
 transpiring, but I closed my eyes, and in a short time 
 heard again — " I'm behind the curtain in the chair ; 
 Lord Byron, you had better draw the curtain, but 
 stay, sir, perhaps 1 had better do it," and 1 saw the 
 curtains slowly, as if by themselves, opening apart, 
 and perceived through the gloom, a figure seated in 
 the chair, while au other, it looked like the Medium or 
 his clothes, lay in a heap on the floor a short distance 
 within. It was too dark for me, and I muit admit I 
 was too much excited then to examine the occupant 
 of the chair very deeply, but he seemed to be dressed 
 in a long cloak, and had the large collars so well 
 known in Lord Byron's pictures. 1 noticed however, 
 that the figure had a moustache, which the Mediunj. 
 had not. The first thing the Spirit said was " I'm 
 glad sir, I have this opportunity of speaking with 
 you, aud in the first place you hear, sir, I don't want 
 any monument from Mr. Disraeli or any of his clique, 
 he wrote the d — m — nst parody about my life that 
 
 was ever published, with his d d Lord Cadurcis :* 
 
 the most acceptable thing he could do for me, would 
 be to suppress, if possible, his Venetia, I would much' 
 sooner have had it destroyed than those memoirs I 
 gave Moore : now pay attention., I've a great venera-? 
 tion for Andersen, both the man and his writings, but 
 I must tell you that that story told about my bust, it 
 is in * Andersen's History of his Life,' and he got it 
 from Thorwaldsen,f has not a word of truth in it 3 
 Thorwaldsen must have hummed Andersen, these aie 
 trivial things I know, but I cau't defend myself here .; 
 
 now its a d d hard thing to have to hear and read 
 
 many things about oneself and not be able to say a 
 
 * Venetia a novel, by Disraeli jn jvhich the two heroes a,i;« 
 Lord Cadurcis, (Lord Byron) and Herbert, (Slielkn). 
 
 f The story of my life, by Hans Christian Ai.tdoripn., p, &&rjf. 
 ■sww #ot.e .at p\\<}. 
 
 249966 
 
word about anything, that's by far the worst of beiug 
 a Spirit: another thing that I object to, is, that there's 
 a lot of beastly rhyme floating about which all the 
 young men attribute to me, that I deny, and you 
 may say that you have my authority for denying it ; 
 would to Gr — d the world were all Spiritualists, but 
 you'll get so deuced few to believe you. 1) — mn Mrs. 
 Stowe and Pye who writes his silly verses in the 
 Spiritual papers* as mine, and brings me into ridicule. 
 Believe me, I haven't put my hand to a pen since I 
 left the world and don't mean to, as one's intellectual 
 faculties don't improve here, only one's moral if he 
 will.-j* But I won't bore you any more with our 
 state, I suppose you wish me to serve you, if I can 
 by any means, sir, you command me." 
 
 In spite of my surprise, I answered, "Why yes, my 
 Lord, I must certainly apologize for thus interview- 
 ing your Lordship, intruding thus into your Lordship's 
 privacy, I was going to say violating the sauatity of 
 your Lordship's grave." 
 
 " D — mn Ceremony, the grave and all that, my 
 temper and manners have not improved," was the 
 laconic answer, " but I must command them, you 
 will doubtless publish this interview." 
 
 " I shall send it to one or two papers, the Spiritual 
 of course, and try a few of the shilling magazines, 
 who will probably reject it. * What does your 
 Lordship think of the state of literature now in Eng- 
 land ? " 
 
 " Poorly ! poorly ! the Quarterly and Edinburgh are 
 sfill as good-as-ever, that is I mean they occupy the 
 same place with regard to the present degraded pro- 
 ductions, as they did with the better in the Augustan 
 
 * See note 2. 
 
 f " We .Spirits are glad to meet true believers, our feelings 
 are the same in the present state as in the other world. ^Mrs. 
 Pliebe Lankester's evidence in the Slade case." See t&undaitt, 
 Oct. 28. 1876. 
 
 * They have done so, so naueh the worse for them. 
 
age, in my hot youth, when George the IV. was King, 
 or rather Eegent; but its the head of a bad body, the 
 whole of literature has sank, where have you names 
 now like, Magin, Jeffrey, Wilson, Croker, Delta, and 
 these were only as I may say the free lances of litera- 
 ture, of their time, there were giants in those days. 
 And whom have we now ? Ouida, Miss Evans and 
 Braddon, somebody has compared Miss Evans to 
 Shakespeare, with her d — mud canting quaker lot : * 
 why Lady Morgan was a Shakespeare to them ; and 
 then look among the meu, Sala, Dixon, the Eossettis, Rus- 
 sell, and the Oipolloi butterflys of a day; and as for 
 poetry, that has sank to a despicably low ebb, Keats, 
 was bad enough, but Browning and Tennyson are 
 drivelling, the conceit of the men is so rich. Fancy 
 writing and publishing to be understood by no one* 
 The Edinburgh and Quarterly served Tennyson quite 
 right when they dusted his first appearance with that 
 •exquu-z'te volume of his f and ought never to have 
 turned. Southey tried to dub my poetry the Satanic 
 school, if the modern should be called anything, it 
 ought to be the Cut school, they don't write like men, 
 nor yet like women, they are a cut between the two. 
 Swinburne is the best of the modern school, I'll do 
 him justice, though he has had a fling at me, there 
 are some things in his poems and ballads which are 
 really good though he's d — mn'd affected, which the 
 w r rld now confuses with originality. Literary men 
 i)0\v have too much of the newspaper about them, 
 
 they write for the papers and are consequently puffed 
 
 7 _ 
 
 * Adam Bede, the driest of all female novels, we see what 
 she has come to in her " Daniel Deronda " when, the critics 
 .talk of a novel being full of unsurpassed power in ethical and 
 pyschological analysis, people who do not study metaphisics 
 may be excused reading or admiring. — The British Quarterly 
 Review, Oct. 1876. 
 
 t See Quarterly Review article " Poems by Alfred Tenny- 
 son," 1833, vol. 49, p. SI, see note at the end for his exquis-rte 
 fiece. 
 
by them, though it wont do, thanks to Dore's grotes- 
 que pictures^ their books may block up spnce on a 
 few drawing-room tables, for show, not use, if they are 
 read at all it will be when Homer and Virgil are 
 forgoten and not until." 
 
 " Your Lordship does not surely, seriously maintain 
 that there are not in Mr. Tennyson's and Browning's 
 works, many parts of beauty and some true poetry." 
 
 " Bad school ! bad school ! Poetry should be like 
 the air we breath, pure and free, not like your d — mn'd 
 London air, poisoned by-civilization. Now Burns can 
 be understood by anyone." 
 
 u You must understand his dialect, my Lord." 
 
 " Oh yes, but notes on the bottom of the page will 
 do that, and then its only a few words, to understand 
 Mr. Tennyson or Browning you must have the whole 
 re-written, translated into the vulgar tongue. I never 
 could read ten lines of Tennyson without a headache, 
 I candidly confess I don't consider either him or 
 Browning poets. Talent now-a-days seems to be 
 evinced by taking a subject naturally unfit for poetry, 
 Rnd writing such nonsense about it, that talent, or 
 something or the ©ther is attributed to the authors, as 
 a plea against their insanity. The majority of the 
 people who read, read little and hr-ve no judgment, 
 what inclination they have is led by the newspapers 
 and shilling magazines, those receptacles of effusion 
 which would disgrace the poetical corner of a local 
 country paper, the shilling magazines are the cause of 
 a good deal of the literary degeneracy in the present 
 day. What can briefless barristers, man milliners,, 
 and ritualistic curates, know of literature. If the 
 barrister wishes to get briefs, he must stick to law ; I 
 leave out the second, and we all know the third has 
 his time pretty well occupied with his dresses, saints 
 days and confesses to have much time to devote to 
 literature — Bye the bye its deuced dry here." 
 
 " I'm sorry to say, my Lord, that I have not, and as 
 
the doors are locked see no opportunity of getting 
 anything, hut if your Lordship will pardon me, one of 
 these brands, your Lordship will not find bad smoking." 
 " Ah ! I know you can't approach the curtain. Ha ! 
 ha ! the way we poor spirits are treated, as if we got 
 too near humanity again we could hurt it." 
 
 "Look out, my Lord; beg your Lordship's pardon." 
 
 " Thank you, much obliged, don't light it, its beastly 
 vulgar I own, but I chew a little, " and with that his 
 Lordship began to unroll the cigar I had thrown." I'll 
 keep a bit for Horace, I've taught him to smoke, and 
 he does a little chewing too, many's the laugh he's 
 had over the parsons, those pure-minded guardians of 
 the young idea, teaching it those highly moral odes of 
 his ; I never liked him in his works in the world, but, 
 gad, man, he's a capital fellow in the flesh, the spirit, 
 I mean. Horace, myself, Moore, Anacreon, Aristo- 
 phanes, etc., live in a sort of valhalla. We are all 
 very much at sixes and sevens as we were in the 
 world, Cowper, Coleridge, who eats opium still, 
 Southey and thecakers and the tea and bread and butter 
 school, give tea parties in which Hannah Moore and 
 Mrs. Hemans meet ; Lytton, the novellist, when he 
 first came here got into that circle, but they would 
 not put up with his intollerable conceit and aristocratic 
 snobbishness, as if no one but himself had an estate, 
 or mixed with gentlemen." 
 
 Here I ventured to interpose : " It must be very 
 pleasant for a man, I mean a Spirit of your Lordship's 
 attainments to meet in the Spirit world such men as 
 Homer, Virgil, the Emperor Augustus, Maecenas, and 
 all the great Heroes, etc., of antiquity." 
 
 " Not at all, I assure you, we are exactly in the 
 same state as you are in the world, in reference to 
 time, distance, etc. and knowledge ; I know Homer 
 exists but have never had the honor of an introduc- 
 tion to him ; Virgil I have met, thanks to Horace, 
 but in the majority of cases the language is the great 
 bar to forming acquaintances; and look at space too 
 
10 
 
 and the time it takes to travel ; we haven't, I assure 
 much the pull over you, with your railways and your 
 steamers, though the literary men slick together and 
 generally call on each other when they travel ; now 
 Lytton when he came here left his card on me, as he 
 was a countryman, after which, I asked him to 
 dinner, when I gave him a treat with Sheridan, 
 Shakspeare and Ben Johnson, with the Kegent as foil 
 against his, Lytton's dandyism, when I'm sorry to say 
 Sherry forgot himself over his wine, and quarrelled 
 with the Eegent* about that shabby way he treated 
 him just before his journey here; but I don't see much 
 of Lytten, now, as he has followed his son the Viceroy 
 to India." 
 
 " Literature, necessarily, as it does, covering so large 
 a field, your Lordship will excuse my mentioning a 
 few names : what does your Lordship think of Mr. 
 Kinglake's eothen, Mr. Longfellow's works, and " — 
 
 *' Oh, stop, we will discuss the yankees afterwards, 
 its cursed dry work this. If Kinglake was ever in 
 the east, which I've heard he was not before he wrote 
 that book, all I say is, that he must have had a pretty 
 considerable piece of coloured glass in his eye, you 
 will laugh, perhaps, when I tell you but it is true, 
 that Mark Twain's " Pilgrim's Progress," gives a 
 much truer description of the east, that is judging by 
 what I've seen: Pray don't thi^k that I'm prejudiced 
 against Mr. Kinglake, because in a note about Lady 
 Hestoi Stanhope, he paints me asa coxcomb with a lisp. 
 I, like jesting Pilate, seeks only the truth ; by the 
 by, Pilate considers that, so Horace told me, as the 
 cruellest cut one philosopher ever played off on ano- 
 ther, even worse than his suicide on Mount Pileatus. 
 I assure you that through that alone is to be attributed 
 
 * The abject poverty and misery of Sheridan's death-bed 
 were well known to the Prince Regent (George IV ) who did 
 nothing for the dying man; his former boon companion (whose 
 dull pompous entertainments he had so often enlivened by 
 
 his wit). 
 
11 
 
 Bacon's exclusion from the Socratic Club of which, 
 by the by, thanks to Plato and my knowledge of love, 
 
 I have the honor to be a member. Southey's d d 
 
 sorry he ever wrote those colloquies, (with his cock 
 and bull story about butchers)* of Moore (Sir Thomas 
 I mean); it is through him that he was kicked oul of 
 the Conservative Spiritual Club, of which all the 
 popes are ex-officio members ; as for Macaulay and 
 the great majority of Scotchmen, so unbearable are 
 the j in their patriotism, that they have a place (they 
 call it Scotland), to which they are confined by corps 
 d'armee of Spirits of various nationalities, over which 
 Scott presides reading his Scotch novels. They all 
 live on whiskey and oatmeal., and have the best 
 digestions, but 'Ketournous a nos moutons,' as the 
 Quarterly Review used to say. You ask me, sir, my 
 opinion on American literature ; Longfellow is of 
 course a- loug way behind Poe, who I think has of 
 right the throne of American poetry, I am not 
 forgetful of Morris's "Woodman Spare tnat Tree," or 
 Whittier's "Maud Midler," and "Barbara Pritchie," 
 which are noble poems: but for style, originality,' 
 rhvthym, matter, aud invention, lies lar beyond any 
 writer that America has yet produced : none but a 
 real genius oould have thought of the It a v en or Belles, 
 the assonance in the last is something wonderful. 
 Longfellow is a healthy writer as unlike in this as 
 
 possible with that d d modern English cr^w, who 
 
 take them all together seem to write for immoral 
 schoolgirls. It is in a certain sense true, though, that 
 Poe's works as it has been said, give one the idea, 
 especially some of his prose tales, that they were 
 written by a man on the verge of delirium tremens : 
 he was a noble fellow though in t-pite of his failings, 
 and I honor him for his desire to serve Greece,, 
 though they have after all, I admit, turned . out a 
 scurvey lot. Longfellow's great fault is a namby 
 
 * His Lordship's memory seems here to be at fault as the 
 colloquies referred to are by Walter Savage Landou. 
 
12 
 
 pamby symplicity, which may be style or intended 
 for it, but I'm more inclined to attribute it to want of 
 strength and force vim, as it is called. In fact tbere 
 ar-, in out of the way corners of back numbers of 
 papers and magazines, things to be found, much 
 better, in my opinion, than anything any of the 
 present school, either English or American, have 
 written." 
 
 "Then I may take what your Lordship is telling me 
 as 3'our Lordship's real opinion ou our oontemporary 
 literature : your Lordship is not Humming me ? " 
 
 u Oh no, not al all : I never hummed anyone but 
 Hunt, and I've left off humming him now : it was a 
 bitter pill he had to swallow, poor fellow, in those 
 corrected memoirs of his; Moore's lines on him. though 
 about Exeter Change,* after my death, were rather 
 1oo much, however that's all over, and we are all 
 three excellent friends now with poor dear Shelley: 
 who as he always was, is the most meek and gentle- 
 manly creature, Spirit, I mean, existing not at all like 
 
 that maniac Herbert, in Disraeli's d d book. 
 
 His Lothair might have been written by a flunkey. 
 It's the fate, I suppose, all men of any eminence must 
 endure ; this species of post life libelling, we saw 
 
 what it came to in the Greville memvirs: d d 
 
 pleasant for the court party that, and especially for 
 our court who hedge round with a sort of solemn 
 privacy, all that has in any way to do with it. Talk- 
 ing about courts, people may congratulate themselves 
 that the Emperor of Russia is a Spiritualist, it is 
 through him and his being this, that he strives to 
 preserve peace so. But hulloh ! how time passes, 
 thuik I must be going now: besides intruding on your 
 time, I have an engagement to spend the night with 
 a few friends (none of your d d canting orthodox 
 
 * See Quarterly Review, article on Lord Byron and some of 
 his contemporaries, vol. xxxvii, \). i2i, 182S, a most black- 
 guard article. 
 
13 
 
 Spiritualists who open with prayer) in a snntr 1'ttle 
 room in Piccadilly. To-morrow I leave for Venice 
 just to brush up old memories. Good evening, sir, 
 You will oblige me by drawing the curtain. Stay, 
 good G — d! how silly I am, I'll draw them ; good 
 evening, sir," and the curtains were s'owiy drawn 
 across the room, and t awoke as if from a dream, 
 while the Medium who had emerged from the curtains, 
 turned up the gas, and asked me if I were satisfied. 
 1 thought I perceived a slight sound in his voice not 
 unlike that of the lordly Spirit with whom I had so 
 lately conversed ; but it was very faint ; if it were the 
 Medium, he must have been a good actor, and got up 
 his part very well, a«, since, I have referred to the 
 works mentioned, and find the allusions and references 
 correct. This is all I can tell you; I thanked him. 
 paid him his fee and left. The interview had only 
 lasted, I found, on looking at my watch, forty minutes 
 though it had seemed an a^e. 
 
NOTES 
 
 AND REFERENCES REFERRED TO IS THE ABOVE 
 SPIRITUAL INTERVIEW WITH 
 
 LORD BYRON. 
 
 Note 1. (The Story of my Life, by Andersen, pp. 
 82 and 83.) "We all begged him (Thorwaldsen) to 
 relate the story once more, but we got it very short : 
 ' 0, that was iu Rome, when I was sett'ng to make 
 .Byron's Statue; he placed himself opposite to me, but 
 immediately commenced to put on an entirely different 
 countenance from that which was usual to him. Will 
 you not sit still? said I; but you must not make these 
 faces. That is my expression, said Byron. Indeed ! 
 said I, and then I made him as I wished, and every-^ 
 one said, when he was ready, that it was a hit, but 
 when Byron himself saw it, he said, It does not re- 
 semble me at all, I look unhappy. He was above all 
 things so desirous of looking exlretrely unhappy ! '' 
 added Thorwaldsen, with a comic expression. 
 
 Note 2. The Exquis-//e piece by Mr. Tennyson, 
 published in 1833. Referred to by his Loruship, 
 runs thus : 
 
 " O ! darling room, my heart's delight ; 
 Dear room, the apple of my sigte ; 
 With thy two couches, soft and white 
 There is no room su exquis-tfe, 
 2so little room so warm ami bright. 
 Wherein to read, wherein to write," 
 
 and so on, ending thus — 
 
If, 
 
 " Yet never did thei e meet my sight, 
 
 In any town, to left or right, 
 
 A little room so exquis-^e, 
 
 With two such couches soft and bright, 
 
 Wherein to read, wherein to write." 
 
 LINES ADDRESSED TO ***** AND DROPPED 
 IN THE STREET. 
 
 " Speak not, O. mention not his name, 
 It brings back thoughts of days departed, 
 
 I'd hear it glad were I the same 
 
 As ones, but not now, broken-hearted.. 
 
 Ah ! many sorrowing days I've met, 
 But let me, let me, now forget. 
 
 In Lei he's stream my heart would bathe 
 
 And I would giadly die, 
 Hope long lias gilded thy unknown grave, 
 
 That ; would still memory. 
 But if you have one feeling yet, 
 
 Of kindness, let me now forget. 
 
 Oh ! many a sorrow I have known, 
 
 Within this world's black valley : 
 Alas ! I have to weep alone, 
 
 For bread my heart must rally, 
 And often when my eyes are wet 
 
 I smile, but I do not forget. 
 
 Yet, I have known a mother's love, 
 
 Her prayers were o'er me said, 
 Ah, if she see me now above 
 
 Her tears are o'er me shed, 
 But tears are fruitless, vain, regret, 
 
 I know, then let me now forget. 
 
 If sister's virgin truth could claim 
 
 A tender feeling, such 1 was. 
 The forms, who loved me felt the same, 
 
 They 're gone, and what am I, Alas J 
 Ah! not to probe my heart Ave met, 
 
 It is not much, if I forget. 
 
 No more, I ask thee, sorrowing here, 
 
 I'll smile as sweet as ever : 
 You must not jnind the unbidden t?M 
 
17 
 
 That wells from my heart's river. 
 You have not known what 'tis to sot 
 
 And smile— when the hidden heart is wet." 
 
 We subjoin the following boautifnl lines of Mr. 
 Browning, in the flesh, they will give the reader a 
 good specimen of this voluminous but alas little read 
 author — 
 
 ON A LARK. 
 
 Quoting thi-i we have* Shelley's and Hogg, the Etrick shep- 
 herd's odes on the same subject in mind. 
 
 " Oh, Lark, be day's apostle, 
 
 To mavis, merle and throstle, 
 
 Bid them their betters jost'e, 
 
 From day and its deiights! 
 
 But at night, brother howlet far the over woods.] 
 
 Toll the world to thy chantry ; 
 
 Sing to The bat's sleek sisterhoods, 
 
 Full complines with Gallantry, 
 
 Then owls and bats, cowls and twats, 
 
 Monks and nuns, in a cloister's moods, 
 
 Adjourn to the oak stump pantry ! " 
 
 And see here his inimitable portrait, clear as the day, 
 of Nelson, and drawn yet with so few strokes. 
 
 " Leaning with one shoulder digging. 
 Jigging, as it were, and zig-zag. zigging, 
 Up against the mizen, rigging." 
 
 And the following extract from his latest work, 
 " Paeehiarotto," (pronounced of Pack of Kot O.) 
 
 " Long Greek string of kappas, taus lambdas, 
 Tacked as to the tail of each damned ass." 
 
 " Stick thou son. to painVbusk and dab pot ; 
 But soft ! 1 scratch hard on the scab hot." 
 
 "While treading down the rose and ranunculus, 
 You Tommy make room for your uncle ue," 
 
 And so on a*l infinitum. 
 
18 
 
 We close these notes with the following remarks of 
 Lord Byron, copied from one of his letters on the 
 literature of his time, they may not be thought inap- 
 plicable by some, perhaps to the present day : — 
 
 " The great distinction of the under forms of the 
 new school of poets is their vulgarity. By tin's I do 
 not mean that they are coarse, but "Shabby-genteel," 
 as it is termed. A man mav be coarse and }-et not vul- 
 var, and the reverse. Burns is often coarse but never 
 vulgar. Chatterton is never vulgar, nor Wordsworth, 
 nor the higher of the lake school, though they treat 
 of low life in all its branches. It is in their finer g 
 that the new under school are most vulgar, and they 
 may be known by this at. once, as what we call at 
 Harrow " A Sunday blood," might be easily distin- 
 guished from a gentleman, although his clothes 
 might be better cut, and his boots best blackened of 
 the two ; probably, because he made the one or 
 cleaned the other with his own hands." 
 
 The following remark is no less applicable to the 
 poetry, than it is to the novels and in fact to the 
 literature of the day in general : — 
 
 "The brain is all ou lire to catch the clever, hidden, 
 ordinary thought in metaphorical language, which if 
 told naturally, would provoke to tears, instead now 
 it gives rise to a process of analysing to see whether the 
 gimile a million miles far fetched be correct or no." 
 
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