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rited censure settle upon his name, but, while I surrendered him up to condemnation, where he deserved it, to vindicate him where aspersed." If Byron has received "unmerited" censure from his lady and Mr. Campbell, how has Mr. Moore performed the sacred duty imposed upon him by this pathetic appeal? May not his silence, after this, look very like "surrendering up his friend to condemnation ?"

L.-I suspect that Campbell knew very little more than the public did or do-and that is little more than nothing. All that we really know of the matter is, that Byron's conduct to his lady was of a nature that she thought nothing but lunacy could excuse, and that Dr. Lushington, the only person, perhaps, to whom the whole secret was communicated, pronounced that a reconciliation was impossible; and observed, that, even if it had been possible, he would have been no party, professionally or otherwise, to promote any attempt to effect it.

H.-Byron seems to have been, what he called Burns, a compound of "dirt and deity." But what earthly idol is all gold? It is possible that Dr. Lushington's decision, had reference to eccentric violence of temper, and not to any unspeakable atrocity. With our present knowledge only of Byron's character-that is, all we know with certainty of it—and making a fair and generous allowance for those errors of conduct and opinion, which were engendered or fostered by his unhappy circumstances-I am still inclined to exclaim

Byron, with all thy faults, I love thee still.

L.—And, after all, it is only just and charitable to remember, that nothing of a very hideous nature has yet been proved against him; nothing beyond those indiscretions and immoralities which will bear to be spoken of, however much they may deserve our censure. It is far from impossible, that if the whole truth were told, a very large portion of the odium now attached to the name of Byron, with reference to his character as a husband, might be shown to have arisen from the false delicacy of the lady, who, by refusing to state Byron's actual fault, on the

ground of its unmentionability, has set the imaginations of men at work to raise up some horrible picture of depravity, a thousand fold more shocking than the reality. As both Moore and Campbell, who were behind the curtain, at least more so than we are, had still so much admiration in reserve we have hardly a right to be more rigidly severe. We know that Byron was capable of noble actions, though he was any thing indeed but a model-man.

No. XIV.

BRITISH FEMALE AUTHORS.

R.-In no age-in no country-have there been so many female authors of distinction as within the last hundred years, and within the watery walls of Great Britain and Ireland. The scientific Mrs. Somerville-the masculine-souled, but feminine-hearted Miss Martineau-the lively Lady Morgan-the pathetic Caroline Bowles (now Mrs. Southey)-the judicious and instructive Mrs. Edgeworth-the fine-minded, critical, Mrs. Jameson-the dashing Fanny Kemble, (now Mrs. Butler)—and the learned Miss Barrett -the eloquent and impassioned Mrs. Shelley (the celebrated daughter of a celebrated father, and the 'adored wife' of one of the most imaginative of modern poets)-the melancholy Mrs. Norton-the pious Hannah More-the sensitive and gentle Mrs. Tighe—the vigorous Joanna Baillie-the gay Lady Blessington-the humorous Mrs. Trollope-the all-accomplished Lady Dacre the metaphysical Lady Mary Shepherd-the fashionable Mrs. Gore-the pastoral Miss Mitford-the melodious Marchioness of Northampton-and Louisa Twamley, and Mrs. Poole, and Mrs. Elwood, and Lady Francis Egerton, and Mrs. Dawson Damer, and the Marchioness of Westminster, and the Marchioness of Londonderry, and Mrs. Cameron (of the

Oriental City of Palaces),—and Mrs. Austin, and L. E. L. and Lucy Aikin, and Mary Howitt, and Miss Lee, and Sara Coleridge, and Miss Holmes, and Mrs. Taylor, and Camilla Toulmin, and Miss Brooke, and Miss Lowe, and Miss Jewsbury, and Emma Roberts, and Miss Hamilton and Miss Pardoe, and Miss Jane Porter, (and to go back a little)-Mrs. Barbauld and Mrs. Inchbald ("the two bald women")—and Miss Carter and Mrs. Piozzi, and Madame D'Arblay and Anna Seward, and Mrs. Opie, and Charlotte Smith, and Mrs. Ratcliffe, and more than I have breath to utter, have proved triumphantly, and in spite of Mahomet, that ladies have souls as certainly as men, and that they can turn their faculties to as good account.

L.-It is true that there is no deficiency of numbers in the ranks of the Blue Stockings, but I fear that the greater familiarity of feminine fingers with so dirty a liquid as printer's ink, has, in too many instances, led to the blotting out of the more delicate and attractive graces of the female character. I have sometimes met angels in a printer's pandemonium, and I could not help feeling that they had descended from their proper sphere. I remember seeing Letitia Elizabeth Landon surrounded by the devils. It was a sorry sight. I think the female intellect decidedly inferior to that of man. Do you recollect Johnson's remark—a woman who writes poetry (or preaches a sermon, I forget which he alludes to,) is like a dog walking on its hinder legs; it does it ill, but we are surprized that it can do it at all?

R.-Poor L. E. L. was to the last as truly feminine as the most "un-idead girl" in a country village. I am surprized and sorry to see a person of your good sense adopt the old prejudice against all exhibitions of strong and independent intellect in woman! How many clever females are there that are doomed to die old maids, simply because they have sounder brains than the majority of males. Men do not like to look up to womenthey like to look down upon them, and nurse and pet and protect them, as if they were little children or animated dolls.

L. Men do not dislike clever women merely on account of their cleverness, but because they are apt to give themselves

airs on that account. Speaking generally, it is a fact that your clever women make bad wives, and are deficient in the gentleness and amiability which characterize the majority of the sex.

H.-I doubt that greatly. A friend of mine, who had the pleasure to know many highly-gifted women, used to tell me that they were all singularly amiable and domestic. He particularly mentioned the names of Mrs. Somerville, Mrs. Jameson, Mrs. Hemans, and Mrs. Southey. It is true that Mrs. Hemans was parted from her husband; but it was from no fault of hers. You know what sort of man her husband was. She acted the part of a most affectionate and careful mother to his children to the day of her death, having supported them during her life entirely by her pen. I remember the subeditor of the New Monthly Magazine, (in Campbell's time) telling me that she received a guinea for each of her smaller poems contributed to that Magazine, without reference to the precise number of the stanzas, and I suppose she obtained the same payment from other periodicals for which she then wrote. This accounts for the extraordinary number of her small occasional pieces, and it is interesting to know that, besides giving delight to thousands, they brought bread to father-deserted children. Lady Byron, too, was a blue-stocking-a mathematician evenand yet her husband acknowledged, after their separation, that a brighter or more amiable being never existed.

L.-Nevertheless, Byron has many sneers at Blue Stockings. R. Of cheerful and estimable old maids, who have won distinction in literature there is no scarcity in these times, when the ancient prejudice against the improvement of the female intellect is fading away, like a thousand others, before the advancing lights of knowledge. Joanna Baillie was delightful as an associate to the simple-mannered Sir Walter Scott, and you must remember, L, what pleasant evenings we have passed with those happy young-hearted, old maiden sisters at Jersey, who wrote a pleasant book, entitled, if I recollect rightly, the Odd Volume. Though struggling with many difficulties, their good spirits seem never to desert them for a moment, and their hearts are ever open to the claims of others.

R.-Moore's doctrine of the unfitness of genius for domestic life is utterly untenable. How many literary men and women now living are known to be not more distinguished for their genius than for their domestic amiability. Mrs. Hemans (to speak of the recently dead,) was one of the most anxious and affectionate of mothers—a loving sister-and a faithful friend—and who can doubt that she would have been the best of wives, had her unhappy husband given her the opportunity to be so. I have just been looking over some of her letters published in Chorley's life of her. How delightfully she speaks of Wordsworth's domestic habits! As the book is at hand let me read a few passages from her letters from Rydal Mount.

Rydal Mount, June 24, 1830. I am charmed with Mr. Wordsworth himself; his manners are distinguished by that frank simplicity which I believe to be ever characteristic of real genius; his conversation, perfectly free and unaffected, yet remarkable for power of expression and vivid imagery; when the subject calls for any thing like enthusiasm, the poet breaks out frequently and delightfully, and his gentle and affectionate playfulness in his intercourse with all the members of his family, would of itself sufficiently refute Moore's theory, in the Life of Byron, with regard to the unfitness of genius for domestic happiness. I have much of his society, as he walks by me, while I ride to explore the mountain glens and waterfalls, and he occasionally repeats passages of his own poems, in a deep and thinking tone, which harmonizes well with the spirit of these scenes.

Mrs. Hemans observes, in a subsequent letter, speaking of Wordsworth, "He has been singularly fortunate in long years of untroubled peace-domestic peace and union." I believe that Moore's own domestic circle furnishes the strongest refutation of his theory.

H.—Mrs. Hemans's portrait of the great poet of the lakes is highly interesting and does him great honor, though I could wish she had not so often to record his recital of his own poems.

R.-Oh! there is a daily beauty in his life that a little innocent egotism of this sort cannot sully.

L.-If his admiration of genius in others were as ardent and as liberal as his appreciation of his own! But I meet with no warm tributes from Wordsworth to any of his contemporaries.

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