han shedding seas of gore.

"And why?--because it brings self-approbation;
Whereas the other, after all its glare,
Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a nation,
* * * * * * *
Are nothing but a child of Murder's rattles."[158]

And then again:--

"_One_ life saved ...
... is a thing to recollect
Far sweeter than the greenest laurels sprung
From the manure of human clay, though deck'd
With all the praises ever said or sung;
Though hymn'd by every harp, unless within
Your heart join chorus, Fame is but a din."[159]

When he speaks of Souvaroff, who, with a hand still reeking from the
massacre of 40,000 combatants, began his dispatch to the Autocrat in
these words:--

"Glory to _God_ and to the Empress [Catharine]! Ismail's ours!"

Lord Byron exclaims:--

"Powers
Eternal! such names mingled!

"Methinks these are the most tremendous words
Since 'Mene, Mene, Tekel,' and 'Upharsin,'
Which hands or pens have ever traced of swords.
Heaven help me! I'm but little of a parson:
What Daniel read was short-hand of the Lord's,
Severe, sublime; the prophet wrote no farce on
The fate of nations;--but this Russ so witty
Could rhyme, like Nero, o'er a burning city.

"He wrote this Polar melody, and set it,
Duly accompanied by shrieks and groans,
Which few will sing, I trust, but none forget it--
For I will teach, if possible, the stones
To rise against earth's tyrant's."[160]

And then when he speaks of truly virtuous men--the Washingtons and
Franklins--those who preferred a quiet, retired life; so as better to
walk in the paths of justice and goodness, like the ancient heroes of
Sparta, one feels that his words come really from the heart. But if I
wished to make extracts of all the proofs contained in his works, of
respect and enthusiasm for true virtue, a volume of quotations would be
requisite. Thus I have only chosen some at hazard, selecting them
principally from that admirable satire of "Don Juan," which combines
more deep philosophy and true morality than is to be found in the works
of many moralists; and I may likewise say more wit, and knowledge of the
human heart, more kindness and indulgence, than ever before were united
in a volume of verse or prose, and more, perhaps, than ever will be.
Yet, despite of all this, the independence, boldness, and above all, the
true state of thi