ART. XIII. Don Juan. Cantos IX. X. XI. 18mo. Pp. 72, Is. Hunt. 1823.

WITH any appeal to the conscience of Lord Byron, to the common decency and common feeling which he has outraged, and the literary reputation which he has so materially diminished by his own wilful act, we have entirely done. Our present purpose is merely to inquire, and that in the shortest possible manner, how far he has in the present instance succeeded, or is likely to succeed, in serving the interests of the firm in which he has thought fit to become an active partner. Had the characteristic little specimen of the "cheap and nasty," which now lies before us, in the shape of three fourpenny cantos, been concocted by any other member of that firm, its intrinsic talent would hardly have entitled it to the privilege of being criticised; but the public attention which Lord Byron's former works have engrossed, and the notice which has been already taken of the former parts of Don Juan, render it advisable to persevere in our nauseous task.

The three cantos under present discussion have only served to confirm us in the gratifying conviction which we before expressed, that Lord Byron's anxiety in the cause of mischief has been detrimental to his success. The meanest understanding cannot be imposed upon by such palpable bravadoes as the following:

Just now,

P. 25.

In taking up this paltry sheet of paper,
My busom underwent a glorious glow,
And my internal spirit cut a caper.
"Thus far, go forth, thou lay, which I will back
Against the same given quantity of rhyme,

For being as much the subject of attack

As ever yet was any work sublime,

By those who love to say that white is black.
So much the better!" P. 72.

Nor will such ungracious and wry-faced attempts at triumphant pleasantry, as the twenty-first stanza in the ninth canto exhibits, weigh against the internal evidence of rankling spleen and mortified pride, afforded by the whole seventy-two pages before us. The case is perfectly plain. Lord Byron has perceived too late that public opinion has connected him, more than he may approve, with the Riminists, or Cocknico-Carbonari, or whatever name may rejoice the ears of the literary club which he has been pleased to found at Pisa. As obvious must it have become to his tact and observation, that these his chosen friends are scouted both by Whig and Tory as a gang of despicable Pilgarlics,

insensible alike to English prejudices, English pursuits, English humour, and the comforts of an English fireside. Alike coarse, fluttering, and insignificant, their body collective has been roughly brushed away, like a nauseous flesh-fly, from the front of Whiggism on which it crawled for a while, and not even Lord Byron himself has escaped a portion of the disgrace. The temperate, keen, and gentlemanlike stric tures, attributed to Mr. Jeffrey, representing, as they natu rally do, the opinion of his party, on the conduct and writings of Lord Byron, have been the death-blow to his Lordship's self-love.

"This was the most unkindly cut of all;"

And the tone of good temper and moderation in which he appears (p. 28.) to receive the reproof, is falsified by the whole context. Aware that the remarks of the Edinburgh Review are as unanswerable as they are unassailable, and at a loss how to vent the mortified feelings which they have inspired, the noble bard starts from his fawning posture at the feet of Mr. Jeffrey, to fly with the undistinguishing fury of a mad dog at every other person and thing which can command the respect, claim the forbearance, or gratify the predilections of Englishmen. From the king to the humblest. individual of this empire,

"Which 'tis the common cry and lie to vaunt as
A moral country;" P. 71.

from the Duke of Wellington to good-natured Sir William
Curtis, from Shakspeare to "the gentle Euphues," (Heaven
knows who !) from Queen Elizabeth to the living "Lady
Carolines and Frances's,'
""the drapery Misses," and "the
Blues," nothing escapes him. The same wretched sarcasms
on the
memory of

"Carotid artery cutting Castlereagh,"
"That long spout

Of blood and water, leaden Castlereagh,"

which disgraced the former cantos of Don Juan, and the same dull declamations against the great Captain of the age, are repeated" usque ad nauseam :" enlivened, however, by a brainless French pun, which has grown stale in the mouth of the veriest badaud of the Palais Royal, and which stands as the frontispiece of this delectable farrago. His native country is designated,

"Of those true sons the mother,

Who butchered half the earth, and bullied t'other." P. 46.

St. Paul's, as seen over London, is

"A huge dun cupola, like a foolscap crown

On a fool's head-"

In short, the same tone of rabid defiance is kept up throughout, excepting where the writer is betrayed into good humour by an opportunity of creating disgust. The amours of an antiquated virago, and the penalties of youthful dissipation, are dwelt upon with the vapid chuckle of a quack doctor, and the exploits of a foot-pad are commemorated in a professed plagiarism from Pierce Egan, or some other scribbler of P. C. anecdotes and highway slang.

As to the story, it is a mere thread, and totally destitute, thank Heaven! of those attractions by which vice knows how to recommend himself. John Johnson, though a bad husband, by his own confession, was a cool, whimsical, military philosopher, possessing a fund of eccentric humour in his way; Dudu and her companion were very sufficient decoyducks; and the escape from the seraglio, and flight across the frontier, offered a wide field for romantic and amusing adventure. Now mark the difference. The above personages are not once named, and the whole tale may be comprized as follows. Juan arrives at St. Petersburgh with Suvaroff's dispatches; is presented to the Empress Catherine in “uncurdled stockings," and

"Brilliant breeches, bright as a Cairn Gorme,"

is by her first taken into keeping, and next sent to England on a political mission, where the story leaves him in the 'character of Giovanni in London, and in the full enjoyment of ton and notoriety. Such is a full abstract of the three cantos before us. It would be difficult to quote any passage illustrative of the main argument, without insult to our female readers, and we shall therefore confine ourselves to the four first stanzas of each canto, as detached specimens of delicate sarcasm, sublime reflection, and clear reasoning.

CANTO IX.
I.

"Oh, Wellington! (or Vilainton-for Fame
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways;

France could not even conquer your great name,
But punned it down to this facetious phrase-

Beating or beaten she will laugh the same)

You have obtained great pensions and much praise;
Glory like your's should any dare gainsay,
Humanity would rise, and thunder Nay *!'

"Query-Ney? Printer's devil.

II.

"I don't think that you used K-n―rd quite well
In Marinêt's affair-in fact 'twas shabby,

And like some other things won't do to tell
Upon your tomb in Westminster's old abbey.
Upon the rest 'tis not worth while to dwell, A
Such tales being for the tea hours of some tabby;
But though your years as man tend fast to Zero,
In fact your Grace is still but a young Hero.

III.

"Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so much,
Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more;
You have repaired Legitimacy's crutch,
A prop not quite so certain as before:
The Spanish, and the French as well as Dutch,
Have seen, and felt, how strongly you restore;
And Waterloo has made the world your debtor,
(I wish your bards would sing it rather better.)

IV.

"You are the best of cut-throats :'-do not start;

The phrase is Shakspeare's, and not misapplied :

War's a brain-spattering, windpipe-slitting art,

If

Unless her cause by Right be sanctified.

you have acted once a generous part,

The World, not the World's masters, will decide, And I shall be delighted to learn who,

Save you and yours, have gained by Waterloo ?" P. 3.

CANTO X.
I.

"When Newton saw an apple fall, he found
In that slight startle from his contemplation
'Tis said (for I'll not answer above ground
For any sage's creed or calculation-)
A mode of proving that the earth turned round
In a most natural whirl, called Gravitation;'
And this is the sole mortal who could grapple,
Since Adam, with a fall, or with an apple.

II.

Man fell with apples, and with apples rose,

If this be true; for we must deem the mode

In which Sir Isaac Newton could disclose

Through the then unpaved stars the turnpike road,

A thing to counterbalance human woes:

For ever since immortal man hath glowed With all kinds of mechanics, and full soon -Steam-engines will conduct him to the Moon.

III.

"And wherefore this exordium?-Why, just now,
In taking up this paltry sheet of paper,
My bosom underwent a glorious glow,
And my internal spirit cut a caper:
And though so much inferior, as I know,

To those who, by the dint of glass and vapour,
Discover stars, and sail in the wind's eye,
I wish to do as much by Poesy.

IV.

"In the wind's eye I have sailed, and sail; but for
The stars, I own my telescope is dim ;

But at the least I have shunned the common shore,
And leaving land far out of sight, would skim
The Ocean of Eternity: the roar

Of breakers has not daunted my slight, trim,
But still sea-worthy skiff; and she may float

Where ships have foundered, as doth many a boat." P. 25.

CANTO XI.
I.:

"When Bishop Berkeley said 'there was no matter,'
And proved it 'twas no matter what he said:
They say his system 'tis in vain to batter,

Too subtle for the airiest human head ;*
And yet who can believe it? I would shatter
Gladly all matters down to stone or lead,
Or adamant, to find the world a spirit,
And wear my head, denying that I wear it.

II.

"What a sublime discovery 'twas to make the Universe universal egotism,

That's all ideal-all ourselves: I'll stake the

World (be it what you will) that that's no schism.
Oh Doubt!-if thou be'st Doubt, for which some take thee,
But which I doubt extremely-thou sole prism

Of the Truth's rays, spoil not my draught of spirit!
Heaven's brandy, though our brain can hardly bear it.

III.

"For ever and anon comes Indigestion,

(Not the most dainty Ariel') and perplexes
Our soarings with another sort of question:
And that which after all my spirit vexés,
Is, that I find no spot where man can rest eye on,
Without confusion of the sorts and sexes,

Of beings, stars, and this unriddled wonder,
The world, which at the worst's a glorious blunder-

I