great mechanical power of England, her vast ingenuity, gives him the control of the world; but the very existence of England's superiority hangs on the balance of his decision. This minister bears all the responsibility. With respect to Greece it is different. The Turkish em pire is our barrier against the power of Russia. The Greeks, should they gain their independence, will have quite sufficient territory in the Morea, Western Greece, and the islands. "It will take a century to come to change their character. Canning, I have no doubt, will proceed with caution-he can act strictly honourably to the Turks. I have no enmity to the Turks individually-they are quite as good as the Greeks: I am displeased to hear them called barbarians. They are charitable to the poor, and very humane to animals. Their curse is the system of their government, and their religion or superstition.' " Our readers must turn to Mr Parry's own page for a great deal more of Lord Byron's table talk. They will find many sound English sentiments, even in regard to the English politics of the day-they will find views as to America equally just and liberal-they will find the most contemptuous allusions to the soi-disant liberals with whom Lord Byron had come into personal contact, such as old Cartwright, Leigh Hunt, &c.; and upon every occasion an open avowal of the deepest respect for the aristocracy of Britain, which these poor creatures have spent their lives in endeavouring to overthrow. Of all this, and also of the affecting narrative which Mr Parry gives of Lord Byron's last days, strictly__so called, we shall quote nothing. The main outline of his illness is already sufficiently before the public; and these new details are so painful, that though we do not wish not to have read them, we certainly shall never torture ourselves with reading them again. The spectacle of youth, and rank, and genius, meeting with calm resolution the approach of death, under external circumstances of the most cheerless description, may afford a lesson to us all! But Mr Parry has painted this scene with far too rude a pencil; and, indeed, the print which he has inserted of Byron on his miserable bed, and almost in the agonies of death, attended by Parry himself and Tita, ought to be omitted in every future edition. It is obviously a got-up thing-a mere eyetrap-and for one person whose diseased taste it pleases, will undoubtedly disgust a thousand who ought to be acquainted with this book. In order that our article may terminate pleasantly, we have reserved wherewithal to wind it up, Parry's description of an interview which he had with the personage whom Colonel Stanhope mentions as "the finest genius of the most enlightened age, the immortal BENTHAM.' We shall give the sailor's rough sketch of the Patriarch without note or comment-in truth it needs none; and, we have no doubt, posterity will not disdain to hang it up alongside of the more professional performance of that other fine genius of our enlightened century-the immortal HAZLITT-in his noble gallery of portraits, entitled "THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE." At "Lord Byron asked me, in the course of my conversations, did I know Mr Ben. tham? I said I had seen him previously to my leaving England; that he had invited me to dine with him, and had been with me to see the preparations for the expedition. He had behaved very civilly to me, I said, but I thought him a little flighty. Lord Byron eagerly asked me in what way, and I told him. hearing my account his lordship laughed most immoderately, and made me repeat it over and over again. He declared, when he had fished out every little circumstance, he would not have lost it for a thousand guineas. I shall here relate this little occurrence, not out of any disrepect for Mr Bentham, but because he is a great man, and the world are very fond of hearing of great men. Moreover, Lord Byron has been somewhat censured, chiefly, I think, for not having a most profound respect for Mr Bentham; and the following little story goes at least to prove, that some of this philosopher's peculiarities might very naturally excite the laughter of the poet. Mr Bentham is said also to have a great wish for celebrity, and he will not, therefore, be displeased by my sounding another note to his fame, which may, perchance, convey it where it has not yet reached. "Shortly before I left London for Greece, Mr Bowring, the honorary secretary to the Greek Committee, informed me, that Mr Jeremy Bentham wished to see the stores and materials preparing for the Greeks, and that he had done me the honour of asking me to break fast with him some day, that I might afterwards conduct him to see the guns, &c. "Who the devil is Mr Bentham ?' was my rough reply, I never heard of him before. Many of my readers may still be in the same state of ignorance, and it will be acceptable to them, I hope, to hear of the philosopher. "Mr Bentham,' said Mr Bowring, is one of the greatest men of the age, and for the honour now offered to you I waited many a long day; I believe for more than two years.' "Great or little, I never heard of him before; but if he wants to see me, why I'll go.' "It was accordingly arranged that I should visit Mr Bentham, and that Mr Bowring should see him to fix the time, and then inform me. In a day or two afterwards I received a note from the honorary secretary, to say I was to break fast with Mr Bentham on Saturday. It happened that I lived at a distance from town, and having heard something of the primitive manner of living and early hours of philosophers, I arranged with my wife over-night, that I would get up very early on the Saturday morning, that I might not keep Mr Bentham waiting. Accordingly I arose with the dawn, dressed myself in haste, and brushed off for Queen's Square, Westminster, as hard as my legs could carry me. On reaching the Strand, fearing I might be late, being rather corpulent, and not being willing to go into the presence of so very great a man, as I understood Mr Jeremy Bentham to be, puffing and blowing, I took a hackney coach, and drove up to his door about eight o'clock. I found a servant girl a-foot, and told her I came to breakfast with Mr Bentham by appointment. "She ushered me in, and introduced me to two young men, who looked no more like philosophers, however, than my own children. I thought they might be Mr Bentham's sons, but this I understood was a mistake. I shewed them the note I had received from Mr Bow ring, and they told me Mr Bentham did not breakfast till three o'clock. This surprised me very much, but they told me I might breakfast with them; which I did, though I was not much flattered by the honour of sitting down with Mr Bentham's clerks, when I was invited by their master. Poor Mr Bowring, thought I, he must be a meek spirited young man if it was for this he waited so impatiently. breakfast till so late; but in this I was also mistaken. About ten o'clock I was summoned to his presence, and mustered up all my courage and all my ideas for the meeting. His appearance struck me forcibly. His white thin locks, cut straight in the fashion of the Quakers, and hanging, or rather floating, on his shoulders; his garments something of their colour and cut, and his frame rather square and muscular, with no exuberance of flesh, made up a singular looking, and not an inelegant old man. He welcomed me with a few hurried words, but without any ceremony, and then conducted me into several rooms, to shew me his ammunition and materials of war. One very large room was nearly filled with books, and another with unbound works, which I understood were the philosopher's own compositions. The former, he said, furnished him his supplies; and there was a great deal of labour required to read so many volumes. "I said inadvertently, I suppose you have quite forgotten what is said in the first, before you read the last.' Mr Bentham, however, took this in good part, and taking hold of my arm, said we would proceed on our journey. Accordingly, off we set, accompanied by one of his young men, carrying a portfolio, to keep, I suppose, a log of our proceedings. "We went through a small garden, and passing out of a gate, I found we were in Saint James's Park. Here I noticed that Mr Bentham had a very snug dwelling, with many accommodations, and such a garden as belongs in London only to the first nobility. But for his neighbours, I thought (for he has a barrack of soldiers on one side of his premises,) I should envy him his garden more than his great reputation. On looking at him, I could not but admire his hale, and even venerable appearance. I understood he was seventy-three years of age, and therefore I concluded we should have a quiet comfortable walk. Very much to my surprise, however, we had scarcely got into the park when he let go my arm, and set off trotting like a Highland messenger. The park was crowded, and the people, one and all, seemed to stare at the old man; but, heedless of all this, he trotted on, his white locks floating in the wind, as if he were not seen by a single human being. "As soon as I could recover from my surprise, I asked the young man, 'Is Mr Bentham fighty?' pointing to my head. -'O, no, it's his way,' was the hurried "I supposed the philosopher himself answer; 'he thinks it good for his health, did not get up till noon, as he did not but I must run after him,' and off set the U VOL. XVIII. youth in chase of the philosopher. I must not lose my companions, thought I, and off I set also. Of course, the eyes of every human being in the park were fixed on the running veteran and his pursuers. There was Jerry a-head, then came his clerk and his portfolio, and I being a heavier sailer than either, was bringing up the rear. "What the people might think, I dont know, but it seemed to me a very strange scene, and I was not much delighted at being made such an object of attraction. Mr Bentham's activity surprised me, and I never overtook him, or came near him, till we reached the Horse-Guards, where his speed was checked by the Blues drawn upin array. Here we threaded in amongst horses and men till we escaped at the other gate into Whitehall. 1 now thought the crowded streets would prevent any more racing, but several times he escaped from us, and trotted off, compelling us to trot after him till we reached Mr Galloway's manufactory in Smithfield. Here he exulted in his activity, and inquired particularly if I had ever seen a man at his time of life so active. I could not possibly answer, No, while I was almost breathless with the exertion of following him through the crowded streets. "After seeing at Mr Galloway's manufactory not only the things which had been prepared for the Greeks, but his other engines and machines, we proceed ed to another manufactory at the foot of Southwark Bridge, where our brigade of guns stood ready mounted. When Mr Bentham had satisfied his curiosity here also, and I had given him every information in my power, we set off to return to his house, that he might breakfast. I endeavoured to persuade him to take a hackney-coach, but in vain. We got on tolerably well, and without any adventures, tragical or comical, till we arrived at Fleet Street. We crossed from Fleet Market over towards Mr Waithman's shop, and here, letting go my arm, he quitted the foot-pavement, and set off again in one of his vagaries up Fleet Street; his clerk again set off after him, and I again followed. The race here excited universal attention. The perambulating ladies, who are always in great numbers about that part of the town, and ready to laugh at any kind of oddity, and catch hold of every simpleton, stood and stared at, or followed the venerable philosopher. One of them, well known to all the neighbourhood by the appellation of the City Barge, given to her on account of her extraordinary bulk, was coming with a consort full sail down Fleet Street, but whenever they saw the flight of Mr Jeremy Bentham, they hove too, tacked, and followed to witness the fun, or share the prize. I was heartily ashamed of participating in this scene, and supposed that everybody would take me for a mad doctor, the young man for my assistant, and Mr Bentham for my patient, just broke adrift from his keepers. "Fortunately, the chase did not continue long. Mr Bentham hove too abreast of Carlife's shop, and stood for a little time to admire the books and portraits hanging in the window. At length one of them arrested his attention more particularly. Ah, ah!' said he, in a hurried indistinct tone, 'there it is there it is,' pointing to a portrait which I afterwards found was that of the illustrious Jeremy himself. "Soon after this, I invented an excuse to quit Mr Bentham and his man, promising to go to Queen Square to dine. I was not, however, to be again taken in by the philosopher's meal hours; so, laying in a stock of provisions, I went at his dining hour, half past ten o'clock, and supped with him. We had a great deal of conversation, particularly about mechanical subjects, and the art of war. I found the old gentleman as lively with his tongue as with his feet, and passed a very pleasant evening, which ended by my pointing out, at his request, a plan for playing his organ by the steam of his tea-kettle. This little history gave Lord Byron a great deal of pleasure; he very often laughed as I told it; he laughed much at its conclusion, and he frequently bade me repeat what he called JERRY BENTHAM'S CRUIZE. "In the course of the conversation at Mr Bentham's, he enquired of me if I had ever visited America in my travels? I said, 'Yes; I had resided there for some time. Have you read Miss Wright's book on that country?—'Yes.' - What do you think of it; does it give a good description of America?' Here I committed another fault. She knows no more of America,' I replied, than a cow does of a case of instruments.' Such a reply was a complete damper to Mr Bentham's eloquence on the subject. No two men could well be more opposed to each other than we were, and our whole conversation consisted in this sort of cross-firing. Opposition appeared to be something Mr Bentham was not accustomed to, and my blunt manner gave it still more the zest of novelty. He laughed, and rambled to some other subject, to get another such a damper. In my talk there was much want of knowledge and of tact. No man acquainted with party feelings, or with that sort of minor literary history which is so much the topic of conversation, I am told, among literary people, could have been guilty of my blunder. He would have known that Miss Wright spoke what Mr Jeremy Bentham and his friends wished to be true, and that she was, in an especial manner, a favourite of his. It was not till I was informed of these things, by Lord Byron, I believe, that I discovered how very rude I had been, and how much reason Mr Bentham would have to find fault with my want of manners." The whole of this is, we think, quite delightful. Indeed, the absurdity of the scene is touched with so light and knowing a hand, that we are in hopes the volume which we now dismiss is not to be the labor supremus of our literary Fire-master. THE COCKNEY SCHOOL OF POETRY. No. VIII. Bacchus in Tuscany. By Leigh Hunt. London, 1825. MR LEIGH HUNT and we have been so long separated by cruel time and space, whom the gods will not annihilate so as to make two lovers happy, that our meeting now is of the warmest kind; nor would it be right, if it were possible, to restrain the ardour of our friendship. Heaven knows, that any little disagreements that have ever occurred between us, were attributable solely to his own petulance, and that he has always found us ready to forgive and forget. Mr Hunt is well known to be an amiable man, in spite of his Cockneyisms; and, for a long series of Numbers, we did our best to cure him of that distemper. We purged him-we bled him-we blistered him -we bandaged him-but all would not do we could not reach the seat of the disease. It was in his blood, his bone, and his brain; and to have cured, it would have been absolutely necessary to have killed him, which our feelings would not permit. We therefore let him alone, and ordered him to Italy. He obeyed our mandate with laudable alacrity; and from the following letter to his brother John, it would seem that our interesting patient is in the way of convalescence : "MY DEAR JOHN,—I cannot send you, as I could wish, a pipe of Tuscan wine, or a hamper of Tuscan sunshine, which is much the same thing; so in default of being able to do this, I do what I can, and send you, for a new year's present, a translation of a Tuscan bacchanal. "May it give you a hundredth part of the elevation which you have often caused to the heart of "Your affectionate Brother, "LEIGH HUNT. "Florence, January 1, 1825." This is written in a pleasant vein ; yet, strange to say, it makes us melancholy. We anticipate the most serious consequences to Mr Hunt's ultimate health, from the sudden and violent change of regimen indicated in this epistle dedicatory. For many years indeed during the whole of his youth and prime of manhood-Mr Hunt lived on the poorest diet. When editor of the Examiner, he used to publish a weekly bulletin of the state of his bowels, which, we are sorry to say, were almost always weak and sadly out of order. Contrary to our earnest and urgent entreaties, he would drink nothing stronger than saloop. He absolutely drenched his stomach with that beverage; occasionally, to be sure, he had recourse to the weakest of teas-nor in hottest weather did he not indulge in a limited allowance of lemonade. But it is sufficiently correct for general purposes like ours, to say that he abjured all potent potations-that his liquids were thin and attenuated to a degreeand that nothing generous was suffered to mingle with his daily drink. His solids were equally unsatisfactory. A mere wafer of fatless ham, between the finest shives of bread, constituted a of Lisson Grove, a lunch would have breakfast of the forenoon abstinences been a ludicrous misnomer-at the sight of a sirloin, he would have immediately fainted away beside the dinner-board-and an ounce of tripe would to him have been a heavy supper. These are all matters of private concern; but our amiable patient endeavoured to create for them a deep public interest. He made frequent appeal to the people of England on his temperance, and often concluded a 1 leading article on the state of Europe, by information concerning the state of his own stomach, which for the present shall be left to the reader's imagination. Kings knew when he had a cough-the People were summoned to behold the wry face with which he took a purge or a bolus emetic-and both Houses of Parliament were told to suspend their deliberations when he moved an adjournment to the garden. Many, indeed, were the daily, as well as weekly, periodicals, which he at that time edited; and it did not require a person of our perspicacity to see, that the King of Cockney-Land was fast hurrying to an untimely grave. "O for a blast of that dread horn," to warn him from such deleterious diet! But, Cassandra-like, we prophesied in vain, ruin, shame, expatriation, and death to this great Trojan. What got we for our truly Christian pains, but infatuated disregard, or still more infatuated abuse? Cup after cup of saloop did he continue to swallow in defiance of us his inspired oracle. With a libation of unmixed water from the New-River did he devote us to the infernal gods -or, with long and loud gulps of thrice-distilled bohea, desecrate us to the Furies. With an air of offended majesty, that was meant to wither us into annihilation, he drew on his yellow breeches till their amplitude embraced his regal seat of honour, and perking up his little finger, that glittered with a crisp brooch containing a lock of Milton's hair (congenial spirit), he ever and anon for our poor sakes cast Scotland with all her pines into the sea. Still our affection for our unhappy patient was unabated. We, Z., were called in; and that severe practitioner sent him first to Coventry, then to Pisa, and finally to Florence. "In medio tutissimus ibis," were the last words that Z. addressed to his majesty on his embarkation for Italy. How miserably that wisest advice has been neglected too clearly appears from this volume! Always in extremes, Mr Hunt must needs now tipple all day long. "Wine-wine-generous wine," is his waking and sleeping war-cry! His slokening slogan! What a change, from a four-cup-o-tea-man into a threebottle toper of strong drink! He that used to sip like a grashopper, now swills like a hippopotamus. Instead of "praying for another dish of saloop," he calls with an oath for a bumper of "Monte Pulciano, the king of all wine." Hear, Cockney-land! the Audacious Apostate. "Cups of chocolate, Are not medicines I would sooner take to poison, Down in Erebus, 'Twas the detestable Fifty invented it : The Furies then took it, To grind and to cook it, And to Proserpine all three presented it. Doats on a beverage so unseemly, Was there, in the whole history of men or angels, ever such another shocking abandonment of principle! Here is a king, who, during a long and prosperous reign, had ruled over Cockney-land acseated him on the throne of those cording to those principles which realms. And now, hear it, O Heaven! and give ear, thou Earth! He breaks through every tie held most sacred that he ever gloried in, and, not satiswithin sound of Bow-Bell, abjures all dearest to him in life, bids them all go fied with forgetting the objects once to hell together! "Down in Tartarus, Down in Erebus," and sends after their descent into those dismal regions a shower of curses, to embitter their final fall and irretrievable ruin. What is the worst conduct of the Holy Alliance to this! What a crash among the crockery! cups and saucers, poories and tea-pots, muffin-plates and sugar-basins, all kicked to the bottomless pit in one undistinguishable overthrow! If there be any public spirit, any patriotism, any independence, any freedom in that Land, the present King's crown is not worth three weeks' purchase. Where sleepest thou, O Tims the Avenger? We are willing to pawn our pen that thou wilt not suffer this sacrilegious despot long to trample upon the charities of life. "I would sooner take to poison, |