“I have read your Satire with infinite pleasure, and were you sufficiently acquainted with my mind to be certain that it cannot stoop to flattery, I would tell you that it rivals the Baviad and Mæviad; but, till my praise is of that value, I will not be profuse of it.

I think in general with you of the literary merit of the writers introduced. I am particularly pleased with your distinction in Scott’s character; a man of genius adopting subjects which men of genius will hardly read twice, if they can go through them

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once. But, in allowing Mr. Scott to be a man of genius, and agreeing as you must, after the compliments you have paid to Campbell and M’Neil, that he is not the only one Scotland has produced, it will be necessary to sacrifice, or modify, your note relative to the introduction of the kilted goddess, who, after all, in having to kiss such a son as you picture Jeffrey, can be but a spurious germ of divinity.

As you have given me the flattering office of looking over your poem with more than a common reader’s eye, I shall scrutinize, and suggest any change I may think advantageous. And, in the first place, I propose to you an alteration of the title. ‘The British Bards’ immediately brings to the imagination those who were slain by the first Edward. If you prefer it to the one I am going to offer, at least let the definite article be left out. I would fain, however, have you call the Satire, ‘The

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Parish Poor of Parnassus;’ which will afford an opportunity for a note of this nature:—‘Booksellers have been called the midwives of literature; with how much more propriety may they now be termed overseers of the poor of Parnassus, and keepers of the workhouse of that desolated spot.’

I will also take the liberty of sending you some two dozen lines, which, if they neither offend your ear nor your judgment, I wish you would adopt, on account of the occasion which has prompted them*. I am acquainted with * * *, and, though not on terms of very close intimacy, I know him

* In his answer to this letter Lord Byron declined adopting these lines because they were not his own, quoting at the same time what Lady Wortley Montague said to Pope, “No touching,—for the good will be given to you, and the bad attributed to me.”

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sufficiently to esteem him as a man. He has but a slender income, out of which he manages to support two of his relations. His literary standard is by no means contemptible, and his objects have invariably been good ones. Now, for any author to step out of the common track of criticism to make a victim of such a man by the means of a particular book, made up of unfair ridicule and caricature, for the venal purpose of collecting a few guineas, is not only unworthy of a scholar, but betrays the malignity of a demon. If you think my lines feeble, let your own breast inspire your pen on the occasion, and send me some.

I shall delay the printing as little as possible; but I have some apprehension as to the readiness of my publishers to undertake the sale, for they have a large portion of the work of the Poor of Parnassus to dispose of. I will see them without delay,

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and persuade them to it if I can; if not, I will employ some other. Southey is a great favourite of theirs; and I must be ingenuous enough to tell you, that though I have ever disapproved of the absurd attempt to alter, or rather destroy, the harmony of our verse, and found Joan of Arc and Madoc tedious, I think the power of imagination, though of the marvellous, displayed in Thalaba,

‘Arabia’s monstrous, wild, and wondrous son.’

evinces genius.

I see your Muse has given a couplet to your noble relation;—I doubt whether it will not be read as the two severest lines in the Satire, and so, what I could wish avoided for the present, betray the author: which will render abortive a thought that has entered my mind of having the Satire most favourably reviewed in the Satirist, which, on its being known afterwards to be

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yours, would raise a laugh against your enemies in that quarter. Consider, and tell me, whether the lines shall stand. I agree that there is only one among the peers on whom Apollo deigns to smile; but, believe me, that peer is no relation of yours.

I am sorry you have not found a place among the genuine Sons of Apollo for Crabbe, who, in spite of something bordering on servility in his dedication, may surely rank with some you have admitted to his temple. And now, before I lay down my pen, I will tell you the passage which gave me the greatest pleasure—that on Little. I am no preacher, but it is very pleasing to read such a confirmation of the opinion I had formed of you; to find you an advocate for keeping a veil over the despotism of the senses. Such poems are far more dangerous to society than Rochester’s. In your concluding line on Little, I would,

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though in a quotation, substitute, line, or lay, for life:

‘She bids thee mend thy line and sin no more*.’

Pray answer as soon as you conveniently can, and believe me ever,” &c. &c.

“I have received your lines*, which shall be inserted in the proper place. May I say that I question whether own and disown be an allowable rhyme?

Translation’s servile work at length disown, And quit Achaia’s muse to court your own.

You see I cannot let any thing pass; but this only proves to you how much I feel interested.

* Those complimenting the translators of the Anthology.

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I have inserted the note on the kilted goddess; still I would fain have it omitted. My first objection was, that it was a fiction in prose, too wide of fact, and not reconcileable with your own praises of Caledonian genius. Another objection now occurs to me, of no little importance. There seems at present a disposition in Scotland to withdraw support from the Edinburgh Reviewers: that disposition will favour the circulation of your Satire in the north: this note of yours will damp all ardour for it beyond the Tweed. You have yet time; tell me to suppress it when I next have the pleasure of seeing you, which will be when I receive the first proof. I did hope to be able to bring the proof this morning, but the printer could not prepare the paper, &c. for the press till to-day. I am promised one by the day after to-morrow.

I trust you will approve of what I have done with the bookseller. He is to be at

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all the expense and risk, and to account for half the profits*, for which he is to have one edition of a thousand copies. It would not have answered to him to have printed only five hundred on these terms. I have also promised him that he shall have the publishing of future editions, if the author chooses to continue it; but I told him that I could not dispose of the copyright.

I observed to you that in the opening of the Poem there appears to be a sudden stop with Dryden. I still feel the gap there; and wish you would add a couple of lines for the purpose of connecting the sense, saying that Otway and Congreve had wove mimic scenes, and Waller tuned his lyre to love. If you do, “But why these names, &c.” would follow well—and it

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is perhaps the more requisite as you lash our present Dramatists*.

Half Tweed combin’d his waves to form a tear,

will perhaps strike you, on reconsidering the line, to want alteration. You may make the river-god act without cutting him in two: you may make him ruffle half his stream to yield a tear†.

‘Hoyle, whose learned page, &c.’ The pronoun is an identification of the antecedent Hoyle, which is not your meaning—say, Not he whose learned page, &c.

Earth’s chief dictatress, Ocean’s lonely queen”—

The primary and obvious sense of lonely is solitary, which does not preclude the idea

* He inserted the following couplet— Then Congreve’s scenes could cheer, or Otway’s melt, For nature then an English audience felt. † The line was printed thus— Tweed ruffled half his waves to form a tear.

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of the ocean having other queens. You may have some authority for the use of the word in the acceptation you here give it, but, like the custom in Denmark, I should think it more honoured in the breach than the observance. Only offers its service; or why not change the epithet altogether*?

The poet considereth times past and their poesy—maketh a sudden transition to times present—is incensed against book-makers—revileth W. Scott for cupidity and ballad-mongering, with notable remarks on Master Southey—complaineth that Master Southey hath inflicted three poems, epic and otherwise, on the public—inveigheth against Wm. Wordsworth, but laudeth Mr. Coleridge and his elegy on a young ass—is disposed to vituperate Mr. Lewis—and greatly rebuketh Thomas Little (the late) and the Lord Strangford—recommendeth Mr. Hayley to turn his attention to prose—and exhorteth the Moravians to glorify Mr. Grahame—sympathizeth with the Rev. Bowles—and deploreth the melancholy fate of Montgomery—breaketh out into invective against the Edinburgh Reviewers—calleth them hard names, harpies, and the like—apostrophiseth Jeffrey and prophesieth—Episode of Jeffrey and Moore, their jeopardy and deliverance; portents on the morn of the combat; the Tweed, Tolbooth, Frith of Forth severally shocked; descent of a goddess to save Jeffrey; incorporation of the bullets

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with his sinciput and occiput—Edinburgh Reviews en masse—Lord Aberdeen, Herbert, Scott, Hallam, Pillans, Lambe, Sydney Smith, Brougham, &c.—The Lord Holland applauded for dinners and translations—The Drama; Skeffington, Hook, Reynolds, Kenney, Cherry, &c.—Sheridan, Colman, and Cumberland called upon to write—Return to poesy—scribblers of all sorts—Lords sometimes rhyme; much better not—Hafiz, Rosa Matilda, and X. Y. Z.—Rogers, Campbell, Gifford, &c., true poets—Translators of the Greek Anthology—Crabbe—Darwin’s style—Cambridge—Seatonian Prize—Smythe—Hodgson—Oxford—Richards—Poeta loquitur—Conclusion.