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youthful spirits, and do not consider him as seriously impeaching either the value or the reality of the severer virtues; and in the same way, when the satirist deals out his sarcasms against the sincerity of human professions, and unmasks the secret infirmities of our bosoms, we consider this as aimed at hypocrisy, and not at mankind: or, at all events, and in either case, we consider the Sensualist and the Misanthrope as wandering, each in his own delusion-and pity those who have never known the charms of a tender or generous affection. The true antidote to such seductive or revolting views of human nature, is to turn to the scenes of its nobleness and attraction; and to reconcile ourselves again to our kind, by listening to the accents of pure affection and incorruptible honour. But if those accents have flowed, in all their sweetness, from the very lips that instantly open again to mock and blaspheme them, the antidote is mingled with the poison, and the draught is the more deadly for the mixture!

The reveller may pursue his orgies, and the wanton display her enchantments with comparative safety to those around them, while they know or believe that there are purer and higher enjoyments, and teachers and followers of a happier way. But if the priest pass from the altar, with persuasive exhortations to peace and purity still trembling on his tongue, to join familiarly in the grossest and most profane debauchery-if the matron, who has charmed all hearts by the lovely sanctimonies of her conjugal and maternal endearments, glides out from the circle of her children, and gives bold and shameless way to the most abandoned and degrading vices—our notions of right and wrong are at once confounded-our confidence in virtue shaken to the foundations and our reliance on truth and fidelity at an end for ever.

This is the charge which we bring against Lord Byron. We say that, under some strange misapprehension as to the truth, and the duty of proclaiming it, he has exerted all the powers of his powerful mind to convince his readers, both directly and indirectly, that all ennobling pursuits, and disinterested virtues, are mere deceits or illusions-hollow and despicable mockeries for the most part, and, at best, but laborious follies. Love, patriotism, valour, devotion, constancy, ambition-all are to be laughed at, disbelieved in, and despised !-and nothing is really good, so far as we can gather, but a succession of dangers to stir the blood, and of banquets and intrigues to sooth it again! If this doctrine stood alone, with its examples, it would revolt, we believe, more than it would seduce:-but the author of it has the unlucky gift of personating all those sweet and lofty il

lusions, and that with such grace and force and truth to nature, that it is impossible not to suppose, for the time, that he is among the most devoted of their votaries-till he casts off the character with a jerk-and, the moment after he has moved and exalted us to the very height of our conception, resumes his mockery at all things serious or sublime-and lets us down at once on some coarse joke, hard-hearted sarcasm, or fierce and relentless personality-as if on purpose to show

'Whoe'er was edified, himself was not '

or to demonstrate practically as it were, and by example, how possible it is to have all fine and noble feelings, or their appearance, for a moment, and yet retain no particle of respect for them-or of belief in their intrinsic worth or permanent reality. Thus, we have an indelicate but very clever scene of the young Juan's concealment in the bed of an amorous matron, and of the torrent of rattling and audacious eloquence' with which she repels the too just suspicions of her jealous lord. All this is merely comic, and a little coarse :-But then the poet chuses to make this shameless and abandoned woman address to her young gallant, an epistle breathing the very spirit of warm, devoted, pure and unalterable love-thus profaning the holiest language of the heart, and indirectly associating it with the most hateful and degrading sensuality. In like manner, the sublime and terrific description of the Shipwreck is strangely and disgustingly broken by traits of low humour and buffoonery; and we pass immediately from the moans of an agonizing father fainting over his famished son, to facetious stories of Juan's begging a paw of his father's dog-and refusing a slice of his tutor!-as if it were a fine thing to be hard-hearted-and pity and compassion were fit only to be laughed at. In the same spirit, the glorious Ode on the aspirations of Greece after Liberty, is instantly followed up by a strain of dull and coldblooded ribaldry;--and we are hurried on from the distraction and death of Haidee to merry scenes of intrigue and masquerading in the seraglio. Thus all good feelings are excited only to accustom us to their speedy and complete extinction; and we are brought back, from their transient and theatrical exhibition, to the staple and substantial doctrine of the work-the non-existence of constancy in women or honour in men, and the folly of expecting to meet with any such virtues, or of cultivating them, for an undeserving world;-and all this mixed up with so much wit and cleverness, and knowledge of human nature, as to make it irresistibly pleasant and plausible-while there is not only no antidote supplied, but every thing that might have operated in that way has been anticipated, and presented already in as strong and engaging a form as possible-but un

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der such associations as to rob it of all efficacy, or even turn it into an auxiliary of the poison.

This is our sincere opinion of much of Lord B.'s most splendid poetry-a little exaggerated perhaps in the expression, from a desire to make our exposition clear and impressive-but, in substance, we think merited and correct. We have already said, and we deliberately repeat, that we have no notion that Lord B. had any mischievous intention in these publicationsand readily acquit him of any wish to corrupt the morals, or impair the happiness of his readers. Such a wish, indeed, is in itself altogether inconceivable; but it is our duty, nevertheless, to say, that much of what he has published appears to us to have this tendency-and that we are acquainted with no writings so well calculated to extinguish in young minds all generous enthusiasm and gentle affection-all respect for themselves, and all love for their kind-to make them practise and profess hardily what it teaches them to suspect in others-and actually to persuade them that it is wise and manly and knowing, to laugh, not only at self-denial and restraint, but at all aspiring ambition, and all warm and constant affection.

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How opposite to this is the system, or the temper, of the great author of Waverley-the only living individual to whom Lord Byron must submit to be ranked as inferior in geniusand still more deplorably inferior in all that makes genius either amiable in itself, or useful to society! With all his unrivalled power of invention and judgment, of pathos and pleasantry, the tenor of his sentiments is uniformly generous, indulgent, and good-humoured; and so remote from the bitterness of misanthropy, that he never indulges in sarcasm, and scarcely, in any case, carries his merriment so far as derision. But the peculiarity by which he stands most broadly and proudly distinguished from Lord Byron is, that, beginning, as he frequently does, with some ludicrous or satirical theme, he never fails to raise out of it some feelings of a generous or gentle kind, and to end by exciting our tender pity, or deep respect for those very individuals or classes of persons who seemed at first to be brought on the stage for our mere sport and amusement-thus making the ludicrous itself subservient to the cause of benevolence-and inculcating, at every turn, and as the true end and result of all his trials and experiments, the love of our kind, and the duty and delight of a cordial and genuine sympathy, with the joys and sorrows of every condition of men. It seems to be Lord Byron's way, on the contrary, never to excite a kind or a noble sentiment, without making haste to obliterate it by a torrent of unfeeling mockery or relentless abuse, and taking pains to show how well those passing fantasies may be reconciled to a system of resolute

misanthropy, or so managed as even to enhance its merits, or confirm its truth. With what different sensations, accordingly, do we read the works of these two great writers !— With the one, we seem to share a gay and gorgeous banquet-with the other, a wild and dangerous intoxication. Let Lord Byron bethink him of this contrast-and its causes and effects. Though he scorns the precepts, and defies the censure of ordinary men, he may yet be moved by the example of his only superior !—In the mean time, we have endeavoured to point out the canker that stains the splendid flowers of his poetry-or, rather, the serpent that lurks beneath them. If it will not listen to the voice of the charmer, that brilliant garden, gay and glorious as it is, must be deserted, and its existence deplored, as a snare to the unwary.

There is a minor blemish, of which we meant to say something also-but it is scarcely worth while-we mean the outrageous, and, till he set the example, the unprecedented personalities in which this noble author indulges. We have already noticed the ferocity of his attacks on Mr Southey. The Laureate had railed at him indeed before; but he had railed in good set terms;'-and, if we recollect right, had not even mentioned his Lordship's name. It was all, in his exquisite way, by innuendo. In spite of this, we do not mean to deny that Lord B. had a right to name Mr Southey-but he had no right to say any thing of Mr Southey's wife; and the mention of her, and of many other people, is cruel, coarse, and unhandsome. If his Lordship's sense of propriety does not cure him of this propensity, we hope his pride may. For the practice has gone down to such imitators, as can do him no honour in pointing to him as their original. We rather think it would be better, after all, to be called the founder of the Satanic School, than the Master of the John Bulls, Beacons, and Sentinels.

ART. VI. Report from, and Minutes of Evidence taken before, the Committee to whom the several Petitions complaining of the Depressed State of the Agriculture of the United Kingdom were referred. Ordered, by the House of Commons, to be printed, 18th June 1821.

THE subject discussed in this Report is one of the deepest interest and importance. The distresses of the Agriculturists have attained to so alarming a height, that we believe it is now pretty generally agreed, that some measures ought, if possible, to be adopted for their relief. The experience of nearly

seven years has shown the futility of the expectations of those who supposed that the prohibitory law of 1815 would put an end to the distresses of the farmer. So far from having had any such effect, the difficulties with which the occupiers of land have to contend, are at least as great at this moment as they were either in 1814 or 1815; while, owing to the progressive diminution of their capitals, they are less able to make head against them. The Report of the Committee on the State of Agriculture sets out with a distinct admission, that the distress of the tenantry had been established by the best documentary evidence, and by the testimony of the most respectable witnesses. But prices have declined considerably even since the Report was drawn up. In 1820, the average price of wheat, in England and Wales, was 65s. 7d. a quarter, while, in the year ending March 1821, it was only 62s. 5d. The increasing pressure is also but too clearly ascertained from the distinct and well authenticated statements that have been made at the numerous public meetings recently held in different parts of England. It is stated, for example, in the Resolutions unanimously agreed to at a meeting of occupiers of land in the county of Lincoln, held at Holbeach on 31st December last, That the Agricultural difficulties and distresses have so increased, and are increasing, that the cultivation of the land is declining; many farmers must, it is feared, be ruined; others must leave their farms; and all are • already curtailing the employ of labourers, from their inability to remunerate the usual and necessary number of hands; and thus the willing and industrious labourers are compelled either to work at inadequate wages, assisted by parochial relief, or become wholly dependent on their parishes for support.' And it is stated, in the Resolutions submitted to a meeting of the nobility, gentry, clergy, freeholders, and occupiers of land in the county of Sussex, held on the 3d January, by Mr Curteis, the member for the county, and unanimously agreed to, That the progressive decline in value of all productions of the soil during the last three years, has gradually destroyed the previously acquired capital of the farmer; has, by curtailing the means of pursuing the usual course of husbandry, deprived "one-third of the labouring population of employment; reduced • many industrious and highly deserving occupiers to pauperism; and, unless specdily arrested, must, in the opinion of this mecting, be productive of universal ruin.

That this deplorable state of things is not confined to the occupier of the soil; through him its influence has extended to other classes; the landlord is in very many instances without his rent, the clergyman without his tithe, the tradesman without his usual business, and the mechanic without his accustomed employment.'

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