ressed by his friends, by all the society in which
he was then moving, and by a mother who idolized him! These verses,
though not yet the highest expression of his genius, were certainly full
of charming tenderness, grace, and naive sensibility; moreover, they had
been given to the public in such a modest way by a man so young that he
might almost be called a child! If he were not conscious of his great
superiority, of which he must nevertheless have felt some prophetic
presentiment--restrained, doubtless, by modesty and timidity,--he must
at least have been conscious that he had not, in any way, merited the
brutality displayed in attacks which violated all the laws of just and
allowable criticism.

Lord Byron's soul revolted at it, and in his indignation repelling
assault by assault, he overstepped his aim; for he certainly went to
extremes. And yet, in the very paroxysm of such irritation, was a
personal sentiment his first incentive? No! it was a good, generous,
affectionate feeling that actuated him: fear lest his mother should be
grieved at what had occurred.

He had scarcely been told how biting the criticism was, and he had not
read it, when he hastened to write to his friend Beecher:--

"Tell Mrs. Byron not to be out of humor with them, and to prepare her
mind for the greatest hostility on their part. It will do no injury
whatever, and I trust her mind will not be ruffled. They defeat their
object by indiscriminate abuse, and they never praise, except the
partisans of Lord Holland and Co. It is nothing to be abused when
Southey and Moore share the same fate."

In assuming this philosophical calm, which he really did arrive at
later, but which he was very far from possessing at this time,--in
forcing this language on his just resentment to console his mother, when
his whole being was agitated, he certainly made one of those efforts
which betoken a soul as vigorous as it was beautiful. He used his pen as
soon as he had satisfied this first want of his heart; but the
intensity of passion destroyed his equilibrium.

When at Ravenna he wrote:--

"I recollect well the effect that criticism produced on me; it was rage,
and resistance, and redress, but not despondency nor despair. A savage
review is hemlock to a sucking author; the one on me knocked me
down--but I got up again. This criticism was a master-piece of low
jests, a tissue of coarse invectives. It contained many commonplace
expressions, lowlived insult