nies, whether he was a believer in the tenets of Christianity. He perceived and needed the consolation to be derived from a sincere adoption of its creed, but his intellectual pride would not suffer him to prostrate his reason at the humiliating shrine of faith.

6

The following anecdotes are interesting, and, upon the whole, favorable illustrations of the paradoxical character of lord Byron :-A young lady of talent being reduced to great hardships on account of her family, came to the resolution of calling on lord Byron, at his apartments in the Albany, for the purpose of soliciting his subscription to a volume of poems. Having no knowledge of him, except from his works, she entered his room with diffidence, but soon found courage to state her request, which she did with simplicity and delicacy. He listened with attention, and, when she had done speaking, began to converse with her in so gentle and fascinating a manner, that she hardly perceived he had been writing, until he put a slip of paper into her hand, saying it was his subscription; but,' added he, we are both young, and the world is very censorious; and so, if I were to take any active part in procuring subscribers to your poems, I fear it would do you harm rather than good.' The young lady, on looking at the paper, found it a check for £50. During his residence at Venice, the house of a shoemaker, who had a large family, being destroyed by fire, lord Byron ordered a new habitation to be built at his own expense, and presented the tradesman with a sum equal in value to the whole of his loss. Whilst at Metaxata, in the island of Cephalonia, hearing of several persons having been buried under an embankment which had fallen in, he immediately hastened to the spot, accompanied by his physician. After some of their companions had been extricated, the laborers becoming alarmed for themselves, refused to dig further, when he himself seized a spade, and, by his exertions, assisted by the peasantry, succeeded in saving two more persons from certain death. One of his household having subjected him to much perplexity by his amorous propensities, he hit upon the following means for curing them--A young Suliote of the guard being dressed up like a woman, was instructed to attract the notice of the gay Lothario, who, taking the bait, was conducted by the supposed female to one of lord Byron's apartments, where he was almost terrified out of his senses by the sudden appearance of an enraged husband, provided for the occasion. The following anecdote shows how jealous he was of title:-an Italian apothecary having sent him, one day, a packet of medicines addressed to Monsieur Byron, he indignantly sent the physic back to learn better manners. His coat of arms was, according to Leigh Hunt, suspended over the foot of his bed; and even when a schoolboy at Dulwich, so little disguised were his high notions of rank, that his companions used to call him the Old English Baron. When residing at Mitylene, he portioned eight young girls very liberally, and even danced with them at their marriage feast; he gave a cow to one man, horses to another, and silk to several girls who lived by weaving. He also bought a new boat for a fisherman who had lost his own in a gale; and he often gave Greek Testaments to the poor children. At Ravenna, he was so much beloved by the poor people, that his influence over them was dreaded by the government; and, indeed, wherever he resided, his generosity and benevolence appear to have been eminently conspicuous.

Of the merits so universally acknowledged of lord Byron, as a poet, little

need be said; in originality of conception, depth and vigor of thought, boldness of imagination, and power of expression, he is unrivaled. His most sublime performances are Manfred, Childe Harold, Heaven and Earth, and Cain; the first of these pieces has been highly commended by Goethe, who pronounces some parts of it superior to some of the productions of Shakspeare. His great and favorable art lies in his portraiture of the human character, thrown back upon itself by satiety, conscious of its own wreck, yet disdaining penitence for the vices it acknowledges, unable to find relief in itself, and scorning to derive consolation from others. In this respect, he surpasses Milton, who has only depicted the horrors of remorse; a far less difficult task. Satan has an end in view, to which he is driven by despair and hate: Manfred has none, yet, in the stern apathy of his soul, he appears to us more terribly sublime even than Lucifer himself. Don Juan is lord Byron's most remarkable production and contains some of his finest and most common-place passages, and shows a command of language and versatility of style that have never been equaled. The tendency, however, of this and some other of his poems, cannot be too explicitly condemned. In Don Juan, sensuality has one of its most powerful and accomplished advocates; the sting by which it is followed he calls the misfortune of nature, instead of the consequence of vice; and, thus, instead of exalting our notions of virtue, makes us regard the exercise of it as a melancholy and irksome duty.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, eldest son of Sir Timothy Shelley, Baronet, of Castle Goring, Sussex, was born in that county, on the 4th of August, 1792. At the age of thirteen he was sent to Eton, where he was distinguished from his schoolfellows by a melancholy and reserved disposition, and an abstinence from every amusement natural to youth. He soon began to develop a rigid, unconventional tenacity of character, in relation to what he deemed the reason and justice of things, and he was in consequence, at an earlier period than usual, removed to the University of Oxford. Here his penetrating and inquisitive mind displayed more fully that pertinacious but conscientious eccentricity, which forbade his assent to the most common truths without investigation; and, in consequence of publishing a pamphlet, in which he attacked the ordinarily received notions of the being of God, he was expelled from the university, on his refusal to retract his opinions. This step drew upon him the displeasure of his family, whose total discountenance of him soon after followed, on his marriage, at the age of about seventeen or eighteen, with a lady equally young. The union ended in misery to both; after the birth of two children they separated by mutual consent, and Mrs. Shelley subsequently destroying herself, the subject of our memoir was looked upon as her murderer, and spoken of with proportionate obloquy.

A perusal of Mr. Godwin's Political Justice, had first induced Shelley to adopt the systematic rule of conduct, by which he subsequently squared all his actions, at the sacrifice of every worldly interest. His conduct was, in consequence, equally noble and extraordinary; and though, it is said, 'he had only to become a yea and nay man in the house of commons, to be one of the richest men in Sussex,' he declined it to live upon a comparative

pittance. After a visit to Italy, where he formed a friendship with lord Byron, and composed his Rosalind and Helen, and Ode to the Euganean Hill, he returned to England, and married the daughter of Mr. Godwin, with whom he resided for some time at Great Marlow, in Buckinghamshire. Here he was remarkable for his unostentatious charity; and he not only administered pecuniary relief to the poor, but visited them when sick in their beds, having previously gone the round of the hospitals, on purpose to be able to practice on occasion. At Marlow, he composed the Revolt of Islam, his introduction to which, addressed to his wife, is, perhaps, one of the most beautiful and touching pieces of poetry ever composed. About this time he was deprived of the guardianship of his two children, in consequence of his alleged sceptical notions, and of certain peculiar opinions respecting the intercourse of the sexes. After his separation from them, which deeply affected him, and increased his disgust towards the institutions of his country, he returned, with his family by his second wife, to Italy, where he joined lord Byron and Leigh Hunt in a periodical called The Liberal. In June, 1822, he visited the former, at Pisa, and, on the 7th of July, set off, in a boat, on his return to his own family, at Lerici, in the bay of Spezzia; when a tremendous storm came on, and, in a week afterwards, the body of Shelley, with those of Mr. Williams and a seaman, his only companions, were washed on shore near Villa Reggio. Their remains, after having been interred by the Italian authorities, were, at the request of their respective friends, dug up, and reduced to ashes, when those of Shelley were deposited in the Protestant burial ground at Rome, near the grave of Keats.

In person, Mr. Shelley was tall and slight, of a consumptive constitution, and subject to spasmodic pains, the violence of which would sometimes force him to lie on the ground till they were over. The marks of premature thought and trouble were more visible in his frame than his countenance, which, says the writer from whom we have before quoted, had a certain seraphical character, that would have suited a portrait of John the Baptist, or the angel whom Milton describes as "holding a reed tipped with fire." He had a small, but well-shaped face, with a fair and delicate complexion, cheeks not devoid of color, and large animated eyes, that had almost an appearance of wildness. His voice was weak and shrill, and had a peculiar effect on those who heard it for the first time. He passed a solitary and temperate life; rising early in the morning, and retiring to bed at ten o'clock, having, in the meantime written, studied, and read to his wife, and taken sparingly of his meals, which consisted, at dinner, of vegetables, as he partook neither of meat nor wine. His purse, though he possessed but a very limited income, was at the service of all who needed it; it was not uncommon with him, says our previous authority, to give away all his ready money, and be compelled to take a journey on foot, or on the top of a stage, no matter during what weather. He allowed to a literary acquaintance a pension of £100 per annum; but says Mr. Leigh Hunt, the princeliness of his disposition was seen most in his behavior to myself, who am proud to relate, that Mr. Shelley once made me a present of £1,400 to extricate me from debt, and his last sixpence was ever at my service, had I chosen to share it.' The following anecdote is told of lord Byron, and some of his cotemporaries; Shelley, at the time, being on a visit to his house at Hampstead:- As I approached my door,' said Mr.

Hunt, I heard strange and alarming shrieks, mixed with the voice of a man. The next day it was reported, by the gossips, that Mr. Shelley, no Christian (for it was he who was there), had brought some very strange female into the house, no better of course than she ought to be. The real Christian had puzzled them: Mr. Shelley, in coming to our house that night, had found a woman, lying near the top of the hill, in fits. It was a fierce winter night, with snow upon the ground, and winter loses nothing of its fierceness at Hampstead. My friend, always the promptest, as well as most pitying, on these occasions, knocked at the first houses he could reach, in order to have her taken in, but the invariable answer was that they could not do it. At last, my friend sees a carriage driving up to a house at a little distance. The knock is given; the warm door opens; servants and lights pour forth. Now, thought he, is the time. He puts on his best address, which anybody might recognize for that of the highest gentleman, as well as an interesting individual, and plants himself in the way of an elderly person, who is stepping out of the carriage with his family. He tells his story; and asks him if he will go and see the poor woman. sir; there's no necessity for that sort of thing, depend on it; imposters swarm everywhere, the thing cannot be done. Sir, your conduct is extraordinary.' 'Sir,' cried Mr. Shelley, at last, forcing the flourishing householder to stop, out of astonishment, I am sorry to say that your conduct is not extraordinary; and, if my own seems to amaze you, I will tell you something that may amaze you a little more, and, I hope, will frighten. It is such men as madden the spirits and patience of the poor and wretched; and, if ever a convulsion comes in this country, which is very probable, recollect what I tell you; you will have your house, that you refuse to put this miserable woman into, burnt over your head.' 'God bless me, sir! dear me, sir!' exclaimed the frightened wretch, and fluttered into his mansion. The woman was then brought to our house, which was at some distance, and down a bleak path; the next day my friend sent her comfortably home; and, adds Mr. Hunt, this was one of the most ordinary of Shelley's

actions.

'No,

As a poet, we think Shelley has never been surpassed; and we could point out many of his passages which are without their equal, even if we look for their parallel in the works of Shakspeare, Byron, and Milton. But the wild speculative sublimity of his thoughts, the refined intellectuality of his ideas, and the mysterious intertexture of sentiment with feeling, which are the characteristics of his poetry, will always hinder him from becoming popular. Yet, with all this, there is a simplicity about his writings, as remarkable, it has been observed, as its views and speculations are remote and peculiar. A very just notion of his style has been taken by the biographer to whom we have before alluded, who observes, that in all Shelley's works there is a wonderfully sustained sensibility, and a language lofty and fit for it. He has the art,' continues the same authority, of using the stateliest words and the most learned idioms without incurring the charge of pedantry, so that passages of more splendid and sonorous writing are not to be selected from any writer since the days of Milton; and yet, when he descends from his ideal world, and comes home to us in our humble bowers, and is yearning after love and affection, he attunes the most natural feelings to a style so proportionate, and withal to a modulation so truly musical, that there is nothing to surpass it in the lyrics of Beaumont and

Fletcher.' In addition to the works before mentioned, Shelley is the author of Queen Mab, Alastor, Prometheus Unbound, the tragedy of The Cenci, and a volume of posthumous poems.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH, the son of a clergyman, was, according to some writers, born in 1729, at Elphin, in Roscommon, Ireland; but, according to the inscription on his monument, at Fernes, in the province of Leinster, on the 29th of November, 1731. After having acquired the rudiments of education at a private school, he was, in June, 1744, admitted a sizer of Trinity College, Dublin, where he graduated B. A., in 1749, but did not display remarkable abilities in the course of his academical studies. Being destined for the medical profession, he attended some courses of anatomy in Dublin; and, in 1751, entered the University of Edinburgh, where he studied medicine under the different professors. His thoughtless, though generous, disposition, soon involved him in difficulties; and in order to avoid arrest for the debt of a friend, for which he had made himself responsible, he was obliged to quit Scotland abruptly. He arrived at Sunderland in the early part of 1754, when his person was secured, but, being released, through the friendship of Dr. Sleigh, he sailed to Rotterdam; and, after visiting great part of Flanders, proceeded to Louvain, where he remained some time, at the expense of his uncle, and took his degree of bachelor in physic. Hence, it is said, with only one clean shirt, and no money in his pocket, he set out on foot for Geneva, which he reached by a circuitous route, in the course of which he supported himself by his abilities, musical and classical. My learning,' he says, 'procured me a favorable reception at most of the religious houses I visited, and whenever I approached a peasant's house, I played one of my most merry tunes, and that generally procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next day; this, however, was not the case with the rich, who generally despised both me and my music.'

On his arrival at Geneva, he was appointed tutor and traveling companion to a young gentleman of fortune, with whom he continued until they entered the south of France, where, in consequence of a disagreement, they parted. Goldsmith, however, did not turn his steps homeward, till he had still further gratified his passion for travel, although he was obliged to resort to his flute, as before, for lodging and subsistence. The death of his uncle, during our author's stay abroad, had reduced him to these exigencies, and on his arrival in London, in the winter of 1758, a few halfpence constituted the whole of his finances. In this extremity, he applied for employment to the apothecaries, but his awkward appearance, and broad Irish accent, were much against him; and it was only from motives of humanity, that a chemist, at length, consented to take him into his service. Hearing, however, that his old friend, Dr. Sleigh, was in London, he paid him a visit, and accepted an asylum in his house, but soon afterwards left it, for an ushership at the Rev. Dr. Milner's academy at Peckham. In this situation he did not remain long; for, having obtained some reputation from criticisms he had written in The Monthly Review, he entered into an engagement with the proprietor, and, coming to London, took lodgings near the Old Bailey, and commenced authorship as a pro