214 
and indiscretion of his past life brought for- 
ward and made the theme of every tongue, 
but all were exaggerated; and there were 
added to them a thousand utter inventions 
of diabolical malignity.”’ 
But whatever were the circumstances 
that influenced the moral temperament 
and consequent habitudes of the poet, 
it is certainly to them that we are in- 
debted for the originality, the vigour 
and the peculiar characteristics of the 
poetry. They drove him from the cir- 
cles of inanity and the routine of eti- 
quette, to the free and boundless range 
of nature, and the romantic quest of 
adventure; from the monotony of the 
saloon and the drawing-room, to the 
phenomena of the forest, the glacier 
and the cataract,—of the desert and the 
ocean ;—to the tent and to the rock 
that shelters the wandering Arab, or 
fortifies the mountain-robber; and to 
the ruin that recotds the desolation of 
glory, and the wrecks of empire and of 
mind :—from semblances, in fact, to 
realities : from the drill of conventional 
automatonism, to man in the untamed 
energies and diversities of native pas- 
sion. 
We can readily believe, with his epis- 
tolary critic, that “ if Lord Byron, in- 
stead of being driven to the eccentric 
course which he adopted, had passed 
much of his time in the high circles of 
London, from the age of eighteen to 
thirty,” instead of having written any 
“one of his loftier or more brilliant 
‘poems, he would perhaps have been a 
‘sarcastic and witty satirist, and would 
have written epigrams and_ sprightly 
songs.” 
Certainly the Corsair, and Lara, and 
the Bride of Abydos, he never could 
have written. They have all the fresh- 
ness of the scenery, and the scene- 
begotten thoughts and feelings, which 
nothing but local familiarities could 
have suggested or sustained. There is 
little in them that could either have 
heen conned in a fashionable “ at 
Home,” or descried through the spec- 
tacles of Books. 
— 
To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine. 
Sir: 
ERE our clergy (like some of 
the apostles) mechanics, it 
‘would be unreasonable, now-a-days, to 
‘expect them to make tents or bedsteads 
for their daily bread; but, if they are 
Loiterers in their vocation, and take 
from the labouring husbandman the 
fruits of the carth, hardly earned by the 
Remarks on the Tithing System. 
[April 1, 
sweat of his brow, do they not come 
within the description of Isaiah’s 
“ vreedy dross, who can never have 
enough,—who look to their own way, 
every one for his -gain, from his 
quarter ?” 
To oppose the supposition of my hos- 
tility against the clergy, from my writing 
-on the subject of Tithes, as I proposed 
in my former letter (No. I.), I at once 
declare, that I hold in veneration all 
‘such as manifestly do the duties of their 
pastoral office, and would not “ muzzle 
the labouring ox,” but feed him, libe- 
rally, with the finest of the wheat.— 
Therefore, I trust, that if, peradventure, 
I write with vinegar, it will be borne in 
mind, I do so on the sour subject of 
Tithes. 
In this letter, Mr. Editor, I intended 
to have noticed the origin of. tithes, 
when the minds of the. people were 
overwhelmed with superstition and gross 
darkness ; but, from the hubbub amongst 
enlightened men in different parishes in 
London, Iam reminded of the “ Horti- 
cultural Society of London,’’ consisting 
of the most luminous, dignified and 
wealthy characters, not only in England, 
but all quarters of the globe; and al- 
ready, in its infant-state, amounting to 
about two thousand Fellows. By their 
charter, granted by his late Majesty, 
dated 17th April, m the 49th year of 
his reign, power was. granted to them, 
“to purchase, hold and enjoy, to them 
and their successors, lands of the yearly 
value, at a rack-rent, of £1,000.”—(By 
the bye, not a word therein about tithes.) 
Pursuant to such power, thirty-three 
acres have been purchased by the 
Society, for their garden-ground; and 
immense sums already have been, and 
still will be, expended in the formation 
thereof, and incidental thereto; and the 
introduction of fruits and vegetables of 
every tithable description. 
Assuming, therefore, (and no Fellow 
of the Society will think the assumption 
too high), that, ina very few years, each 
acre, in the aggregate, will produce fruits 
and vegetables, which will have cost the 
Society (or be estimated by them at) 
£1,000 per acre, the annual produce 
will amount to £33,000,—out of which 
the vicar (I think I am correct) would 
be entitled, by a composition at £10 
per cent., to £3,000 a-year. Or, if he 
took the rarities in kind, (in his option 
to do so), he might decorate his table 
with choicer luxuries than any nobleman 
in the king’s dominions ; and, moreover, 
haye a superfluity for Covent-garden, 
and 
