as at
least deserving high distinction; and he gave her smiles, such
as Michael might have vouchsafed to Eve. To me he spoke as Paul
to the offending Jews; he did not, indeed, shake his raiment at
me, but he used his pocket-handkerchief so as to answer the
purpose; and if every sentence did not end with "I am clean,"
pronounced by his lips, his tone, his look, his action, fully
supplied the deficiency.

Our poor Lord Byron, as may be supposed, was the bull's-eye
against which every dart in his black little quiver was aimed.
I had never heard any serious gentleman talk of Lord Byron at
full length before, and I listened attentively. It was evident
that the noble passages which are graven on the hearts of the
genuine lovers of poetry had altogether escaped the serious
gentleman's attention; and it was equally evident that he knew
by rote all those that they wish the mighty master had never
written. I told him so, and I shall not soon forget the look
he gave me.

Of other authors his knowledge was very imperfect, but his
criticisms very amusing. Of Pope, he said, "He is so entirely
gone by, that in _our_ country it is considered quite fustian to
speak of him"

But I persevered, and named "the Rape of the Lock" as evincing
some little talent, and being in a tone that might still hope for
admittance in the drawing-room; but, on the mention of this poem,
the serious gentleman became almost as strongly agitated as when
he talked of Don Juan; and I was unfeignedly at a loss to
comprehend the nature of his feelings, till he muttered, with an
indignant shake of the handkerchief, "The very title!"

At the name of Dryden he smiled, and the smile spoke as plainly
as a smile could speak, "How the old woman twaddles!"

"We only know Dryden by quotations. Madam, and these, indeed,
are found only in books that have long since had their day."

"And Shakspeare, sir?"

"Shakspeare, Madam, is obscene, and, thank God, WE are
sufficiently advanced to have found it out! If we must have the
abomination of stage plays, let them at least be marked by the
refinement of the age in which we live."

This was certainly being _au courant du jour_.

Of Massenger he knew nothing. Of Ford he had never heard. Gray
had had his day. Prior he had never read, but understood he was
a very childish writer. Chaucer and Spenser he tied in a couple,
and dismissed by saying, that he thought it was neither more nor
less than affectation to ta