And well the Muse repay'd him. She hath given After having stated what we consider to be some leading principles which influence the poet, it may systematically follow, that we should, in the next place, consider what are the best sources from which poetical excitement is to be derived. The course which Lord Byron has hitherto pursued, seems to have been obvious to all his readers, and has often been explained. From the peculiarities of his temperament, his earlier life was no doubt subjected to all the varieties of irritation, diversified by frequent intervals of gloom approaching to despondency, which are incident to a being moving in an uncongenial sphere, and agitated by passions differing either in their nature. or degree from those of other men. He has perversely delighted to dwell on the recollection of such past feelings; and yet probably much might be said in favour of this plan. A poet of the highest eminence has observed, that "there is often found In mournful thoughts, and always might be found, A power to virtue friendly." But we need say nothing more on a subject which is, indeed, self-evident; and shall only add, that the " Dream" probably affords the most condensed and characteristic example of its author's peculiar and favourite propensity. From other motives, however, we may, by the way, remark, that there are some verses in " Parisina," over which the repelling subject of that poem has probably cast a shade, but which we think particularly deserving of remem. brance: "He was past all mirth or woe: Lord Byron has, we believe, more than once described himself as a pupil of Nature, bred up amid the dark wildness of the Caledonian mountains. It is, perhaps, to be wondered at, therefore, that he has never laid the scene of any important work in that country. Respecting this, an interesting remonstrance (ascribed to Lady Charlotte Campbell,) appeared some time ago in the newspapers, and has already been somewhere alluded to in our own pages. But to return,-for we cannot help returning for a moment to a train of thought which we had intended to break off-it is clear that there are certain favourite remembrances to which Lord Byron clings. He seems to fix upon them because they . are painful,—because, in his own words, he has learned to “ feed on poisons.” : Out of these elements he has produced a being still "more intense,"-himself gaining additional vividness of life with the character which he has created. He has modified and remodified in a thousand ways his own experiences, and has looked round for and invented stories, such as might give him an opportunity of introducing his own concentrated recollections. In many respects, this plan is highly praiseworthy. We only wonder that it is not exhausted, and that the noble author never seems to have thought of the peculiar advantages that might be gained by framing plots distinguished by variety of character and sentiment. That man would be bold, and perhaps insane, who would set out with a design to rival Shakespeare. But without any such wild ambition, why might he not cherish the resolu tion of contemplating exclusively the best models? There can be no doubt that Shakespeare had suffered, in his early life, as acutely as any one from the injuries of fortune and his own sensibility. We know, that in the characters of Hamlet and Jaques, and many others, there are passages which could not have been written, unless he had composed them from the recollec tion of dearly-bought experience. But he was not content with dwelling on these melancholy moods only. In short, he did not write always in the same frame of mind. Perhaps we may suppose, that when one train of thought was exhausted, or became wearisome, he threw aside the sheet and began another, and thus the variegated tissue of a great work is at last completed, and the excitement of his own mind was much more than it could have been, had one and the same course only been perse | | vered in. It is seldom that a poet has not some favourite scene of his youth, to which he has peculiar pleasure in recurring; but, if he dwells always on this alone, we suspect. that he will narrow the range of his own mind. Therefore we should not wish Lord B. to fix his attention on the scenery of "Lochnagar" exclusively, but it might be recommended as a beneficial variety. And " of him to whom much is given, much will be required." Nothing, in short, can be more clearly understood than the plan which Lord B. has pursued. Various other authors have. adopted the same system, but with infinitely inferior success. Among these we find Mr Maturin, whose dramatic powers are well known. The same feelings run through the wild romances of “ Montorio," "The Milesian Chief," and the tragedy of " Bertram." This last, however, was much better in the MS. than it now is in the printed copies. We are now perplexed by the he| ro's conduct, and amazed at his plunging. all at once into the crimes of adultery and murder in so short a period. In the original plan, there was a certain awful character, the “ dark knight of the forest, who, by his demoniac influence (being, in reality, no other than the arch-fiend incarnate,) immediately operated on the mind of Bertram, and excited him to these crimes. But this by the bye. Once more to return,one great defect in Lord Byron's mind seems to be the constant absence of religion. There is no time when the muse appears to such advantage, as when employed in upholding and illustrating ideas connected with the immortality of the soul. In the powerful compositions of Wordsworth, the influences of religion seem almost always to prevail-and whatever scene or feature of sature he happens to contemplate, he finds me silent indication, or audible voice, hich aids and supports the principles in is mind. It would be a curious speculation to investigate and contemplate the various means by which different authors have endeavour. ed at and attained the same object, viz. The pleasureable excitement and active employment of their own minds, independent of the immediate aid of external resources. The same plan which has been followed by Lord Byron in "Childe Harold," was exemplified by Dr Beattie. There is, however, this essential difference, that the "Minstrel" moves in one track of scenery, which is that with which the poet was acquainted in his early life, when he taught a grammarschool amid the heathy wilds of Kincardineshire, occasionally indulging in a solitary morning or evening walk, to the top of a neighbouring mountain, from whence he had a dreary prospect of the sea on one side, and the lowland landscape on the other. -- One of our fraternity had proceeded thus far in dictating these desultory remarks, which were not much objected to by the rest of our circle. Our Coryphæus, indeed, was rather of opinion, that we had said too much of poetry for some time past, and seemed inclined to suggest some other train of thought for our twenty-eighth number. There is no knowing how long our friend might have rambled on ;-but suddenly our Edinburgh, printed by James Ballantyne and Co. For John Ballantyne, Hanover-Street. | attention was excited by the unexpected entrance of a stranger. Not having yet brushed off the dust of the road, he seemed as if he had just then ended a walk, perhaps of thirty or forty miles, from the country, which, from his muscular strength, the freedom and vivacity of his looks and movements, one might have supposed he was capable of accomplishing, without any diffi culty, in one morning. He did not seem at all fatigued. He was evidently no resi denter in cities, although his demeanour had nothing of rustic awkwardness. On the contrary, every look, tone, and gesture were at once decided and graceful. In stature he was rather tall; his features were regular, with lines indicating deep, though serene and pleasurable thought; his com plexion bronzed by the sun, and indicating a frame of which the "nerves were strung into whip-cord by incessant exercise." His dress was of a light colour, and though not much worn, hung lightly and loosely about him, as if the tailor had been especially aware that tight clothes might be suitable perhaps to some fine gentleman of the town, but not to such an active mountaineer as our new visitor seemed to be. From his first appearance, the person who was then dictating our present essay, stopped his proceedings. The stranger began to turn over several books and former numbers of the " Sale-Room," which were on the table. We ventured at last to commence a conversation, the result of which shall be given at some future opportunity. E. THE SALE-ROOM. No. XXVIII.] SATURDAY, JULY 12, 1817. A Periodical Paper, published weekly at No. 4, Hanover-Street, Edinburgh. may begin by observing, that the stranger we refer to, is a solitary exception to the remark we have just made, respecting the uni versally prevailing esteem for Miss Edgeworth's writings. He seems to feel no interest whatever in "Ormond," or in any other of this lady's productions. Indeed, his character is absolutely anomalous ; and puzzles our understandings more than any one we have ever met with. From an exclusive consideration of his utter indifference with THE Coryphæus, or leader of our band, to whom we look for advice on all occa sions, had intended that this Number should have been devoted to some remarks on Miss Edgeworth's entertaining tale of "Ormond," just published. This he thought would have afforded an agreeable variety | to some of our readers, who may not all take an equal interest in poetry. But, perhaps, there can scarcely be found any individual addicted to reading, who has not been at once instructed and highly enter-respect to a great majority of literary works, tained by this eminent authoress, and who which have been generally held in admirawould not be glad to hear of a new compo- tion, he might at first be supposed, by an sition, of which the scene is laid in Ireland, inadequate observer, to be a narrow-mindand which displays (in the first volume at ed and indolent person, incapable of intelleast) all those characteristic excellencies lectual enjoyment or activity. But one by which Miss Edgeworth has been so tone of his voice,-one glance of his eye much distinguished. However, we must dissipates this illusion. His mind is ever confess, that the sudden appearance among | watchful and active ; but what are the prinus of the stranger, described at the conclu- ciples by which it is supported, or by which sion of our last Number, has been follow-he forms his judgments, we have hitherto ed by consequences which we cannot pass been unable clearly to discover. All his over in silence ;—impressions which rather thoughts and expressions are absolutely. predominate at present in our minds, and unlike those of any other being we have of which we prefer to write whilst their in- ever found, or imagined to exist, on this , fluence is fresh in our remembrance. We | earth. It is, therefore, not to be won 2 E dered at that our attention is excited. It is not from any want of comprehension or power, that the common subjects, which interest other men, do not prevail also in his mind. He seems perfectly qualified by his talents for any profession; but there are certain mysterious principles, by which alone he seems actuated, and of which he prefers the consideration to all ordinary sciences. His life is not yet far advanced; but he sometimes alludes distantly to sufferings and fatigue in early life, and injuries which his constitution then sustained. We hope, that he will remain with us long enough to impart a share of the fruits to be derived from his peculiar system; for whatever it may be, we are convinced that every one might be glad to participate in discoveries, which produce, in their fortunate possessor, that apparently uninterrupted serenity and energy of mind, from which his bodily strength and activity seem also to originate. His own independent resources are, in all probability, alone sufficient to supply him with constant excitement; so that, even without books, in the depth of solitude, it appears to us, that he would continue wakeful and actively employed. Whatever external object engages his attention, is always, of necessity, beheld through a peculiar medium; so that his opinions are never like those of any one among his fellow-mortals. "In some respects," observed the stranger, "it may be deemed of little consequence what particular subjects for contemplation are singled out in preference; because the meanest object on which the sight can rest often becomes deeply interesting. But he who would all his life vo | Iuntarily limit his range to a single field of grass, and voluntarily renounce the pleasures that the varied and magnificent scenery of nature can inspire, surely must be governed by some illusive and erroneous impulse. He may affirm, indeed, that this one field contains in itself all that is most awful and magnificent, as well as all that is most lovely and soothing. He may affirm and believe this, and live and die in his errors. The storms of winter come on. He has neither trees nor mountains to shelter him. Of necessity, he then suffers for his folly; but he may say, that his distresses are inevitable; for the world affords nothing more than is contained in his own field! Nearly allied to such conduct, are the errors of those who place their admiration and affections on literary works, which are, in reality, entitled only to a very low rank, and hold up these as worthy of the very highest applause. At pre sent there is an almost utter neglect in the world of those authors, both ancient and modern, who really merit attention and approbation; and it unfortunately happens that minds, which are naturally capable of appreciating their importance and efficacy, are perverted and carried away by the examples and influences of uncongenial society. With respect to discoveries depending on pure matter of fact, or what is generally understood by the word science, I certainly do not say that the present age is deficient. But I can with certainty affirm, that in politics, in religion, and in poetry, (I know that I may be sneered at for joining these together,) there prevails an utter ignorance and general imbecility. In all that concerns amelioration of the hearts and moral characters and eternal interests of mankind, there is an absolute void of knowledge and |