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Destruction of the Caxton Printing-office.

until arrangements can be made for their future accommodation. Some trifling delays may indeed be occasioned, arising from the difficulties which the different agents will have to encounter, in obtaining the means of executing orders, from these distant depositaries and resources. But these temporary and unavoidable inconveniencies, we hope, will be patiently borne by our respectable friends, on the present distressing occasion. We therefore desire them to give their orders as usual, and to expect their supplies through the accustomed chan

nels.

The Imperial Magazine, the Bee, the Works of Isaac Ambrose, the Farmer's Directory and Farrier's Guide, are either already in the press, or will speedily be resumed, as arrangements have been made for their continuance and completion.

The Caxton Printing-office, which was originally erected for a cotton manufactory, was 104 feet long, 45 feet wide, and, on the western side, seven stories high; but, from the rising ground, only six stories on the east. The whole building was lighted with 143 windows. The upper story contained the stock of books in sheets, and was completely full. The second, was nearly filled with numbers, and books half bound, for sale. The third, was appropriated to the drying and folding of sheets, the stitching of numbers, and the colouring of plates. The fourth, was the composing room. The fifth, was the press room. The sixth, was devoted to copperplate engraving, and printing, and contained the paper warehouse. seventh, included vaults for coals, a pump, cellars, &c.

The

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rendered by those who were on the
spot, particularly by his younger son
Mr. Seth Nuttall Fisher, who, by his
active exertions, preserved some valu-
able articles at the risk of his life.
Feb. 13th, 1821.

LETTERS OF CONDOLENCE.

AMIDST the distresses which the preceding misfortune has occasioned, it is gratifying to hear the voice of sympa thy. The language of condolence is always pleasing to those who suffer from calamity, especially when dictated by feelings which nothing but humanity could excite. A sensibility of this favour, it is hoped, will be a sufficient apology for the insertion of the following Letters; to the former of which we give, in an engraving, a fac-simile of the writer's signature.

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G. P. O.

"3d Feb. 1821. "Mr. Drew, Liverpool." Such was the Caxton Printing-office. "LORD Galway is extremely sorry to But in an ill-omened moment, it was find by the Newspapers, that Mr. set on fire, in all probability by a fatal Fisher has sustained so great a loss by Rocket, which, in a few destructive the burning of the Caxton Printing hours, reduced this stupendous pile, Press at Liverpool; and as Lord Galwith all its valuable contents, to a heap way has been a purchaser of "The of ruins. The rubbish still continues to Imperial Magazine" since its commencesmoke with deeply-buried fires, which ment, he hopes that valuable publicaoccasionally break forth into a visi-tion will not be obliged to be discontible flame, although nearly three weeks have elapsed since the dreadful catastrophe took place. When this fire broke out, it unfortunately happened that Mr. Fisher was from home; he

having gone to London on business, not more than two days prior to this event. But his presence could have · added little to the assistance that was

others

nued on account of that truly melan-
choly catastrophe: from this circum-
stance Lord Galway has been induced
to trouble Mr. Fisher with this letter,
as he should lament with many.
if it were so. Lord Galway begs Mr.
Fisher to address him, Seilby Hall,
Bawtry, Nottinghamshire.
"Seilby, Feb. 7th, 1821.”

953 On the Genius and Writings of Lord Byron.

The following lines we copy from the Kaleidoscope, of Liverpool, for Feb. 6th, 1821.

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TO THE EDITOR OF THE IMPERIAL
MAGAZINE.

On the Genius and Writings of Lord
Byron.

With the exception of those who suf- SIR,-If the following observations are fered from the flames, scarcely any spec-worthy a place in your Imperial Magatator could survey the blazing specta- zine, I shall be happy to see them incle, without feeling something of poetic serted in it as soon as possible, inspiration. The whole scene was terribly sublime. Every minute imparted a new feature to horror., The darkness of the night; the mounting flames, bending before the easy breeze; their curling summits. trembling with every conflicting corruscation; the sinking pile; and the burning timbers projecting from the desolated walls, communicated inconceivable grandeur to the conflagration.

There perhaps never was a man, in the whole annals of English literature, who attained so high a station amongst the poets, within so short a space of time, as Lord Byron. When we reflect, however, that the tendency of all writing should be to the side of virtue and morality, and that every author is

SKETCH, AFTER THE RECENT FIRE responsible for the ill effects which his

AT THE

CAXTON PRINTING-OFFICE.

DREAR was the night, and loud the whistling

wind

Swept o'er the sleeping earth, as lone I mus'd
On days gone by sudden a fearful gleam
Flash'd o'er the sky's black pall, from whence
No solitary star smil'd on the world;
But soon the hallow'd stillness of the night
To other regions flew, as the loud cry
Of "Fire," in clattering echoes rush'd upon
My ear. In anxious dread I hurried forth,
When, lo! the giant flames illum'd the skies
In wild portentous eddies! Approaching
Near the scene with mind by awe subdu'd,
Igaz'd in sorrow on the raging pow'r
Sweeping destruction o'er a noble pile,
In which the works of years had labour'd
To advance ingenious art.

In vain the silv'ry streams of water

writings produce, we cannot but look upon Lord Byron with a considerable degree of horror. The more powerful the genius of a man may be, if those powers are employed in the cause of vice and in the promotion of evil, the more they call for a louder denunciation against them; and we feel, that to praise such a man, would only be heaping destruction upon his head. He may become the idol of many, and be acknowledged as a master spirit; but we must recollect, that with such qualities he is like the image which the king of Babylon saw in his dream, part gold and part silver, but part brass and clay; and such an one must inevitably fall in pieces.

When we speak of Lord Byron, we do it with a full consciousness of his

Pour on the quenchless flames! Reckless the mighty genius; we speak of him as of

blast

Of night hurls the destroying element

Through the long line of building, searching

Each room in

savage

devastation!

And now the heavens present a golden
Canopy of lighted particles, whilst
The curling smoke whirls its black folds
Up to th' embracing skies! Down fall
The crackling beams, and hissing flames burst

forth

Through windows numberless!

a man gifted beyond all mortal calcu lation, as exploring the "untravell❜d deserts of the soul," and as one who drops his line of research" deeper than ever did plummet sound." But while we acknowledge his power, we regret that it should be so misdirected; we lament to see a mind, so noble in itself, wasting its greatness in portraying characters so detestable, in picturing murderers, adulterers, and assassins. Throughout all his writings there is none of that sweet balm, that holy tenderness, that supports and heals the troubled soul. The force of piety he has never felt; his hope is not hope, for it is not that "anchor of the soul" which points to a future and a better world. The rock of faith he cannot rest upon, and the still small N. N. voice of peace speaks not to him. The

Yet one short hour, and wreck and ruin
Only meet the eye. But now devouring
Flames assuage, and the bare skeleton
Of building hovers in trembling air;
Quickly the breathless pause of expectation
Portrays each gazing countenance. The firm
Supports slowly recede, and down

The lofty walls are hurl'd with hideous crash
In mingled cries of horror! 'Twas a piteous
Hour, to see this noble pile, extensively
Arrang'd for useful purposes, thus
Leveld with the dust!

Liverpool.

255

On the Genius and Writings of Lord Byron.

heavenly feeling that cheers to the
latest moment, that smooths the brow
of woe, and that renders placid the
visage of old age, he is unacquainted
with; and the star that shall rise be-
yond the dreary grave, telling the for-
giveness of every fault, and welcoming
the pilgrim to his home, is to him a
dream, a vision,-a deceit. His hope
is annihilation,-futurity a jest,—and
his religion despair. He laughs at the
weakness, as he deems it, of his fellow-
creatures, and tramples in cold-blood-
ed mockery upon all the best interests
of a true Christian. What can we
think of the man who tells us of death
as being

The first dark day of nothingness,
The last of danger and distress.

Giaour.

Again, in his song to Inez, in Childe
Harold, he speaks of the mark

The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore,
That will not look beyond the tomb,
But cannot hope for rest before.

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poets. But Lord Byron's love is wholly Eastern: he knows nothing of that feeling which bends before the object of its earthly adoration in purity and truth; he never tells us of that "sweet constancy" that “happy time” in which

a love-knot on a lady's brow Is fairer than the fairest star in heav'n. Wordsworth.

No; his beings are only lovely to him, in proportion as their feet and hands resemble the whiteness of marble, and their long tresses that of gold. The features of the body he pictures, but he never gives them the heavenly features of the soul-his hero's are monsters-his heroines are harlots. In Mazeppa there is adultery-in Parisina incest-and in Manfred that which makes us shudder to trace;-though the crime is obscurely told, yet there is sufficient to show us that he who can delight to revel in such scenes of wickedness is far gone

Another specimen, and then I have indeed. From the shameless Don Juan done; he tells us, that

- religions take their turn.

'Twas Jove's, 'tis Mahomet's, and other creeds
Will rise with other years till man shall learn
Vainly his incense soarskis victim bleeds.
Childe Harold.

There is not a single passage in all he has ever written, that can shed one ray of hope, or cast one gleam of peace, upon the soul. We take up his poems, no matter which-all is gloom and despair-the hero lives becomes a villain-dies, and "makes no sign." Look to his Manfred, his Giaour, his Lara, and all he has written. They are a chaos of fiendish wretchedness, horror, and misanthropy. He breathes but it is the icy Sarsar wind of death: he looks-but it is the withering sneer of a demon.

He is as devoid of patriotism also as be is of every amiable virtue. The man who could pass over the ground whereon his countrymen fell and bled, and address them as

I will not pollute my page with a quotation it is loathsome beyond conception. How truly is it to be regretted, that the highest powers of poetry are so demean'd as to become the channels for so much impurity-we lament to see the whole strength of a man like Lord Byron, thrown away upon creatures with whose actions we are disgusted, and whom we are obliged to hate. But, however, it matters not, in his own estimation, what objects are chosen, or what crimes portrayed, for he tells us that the The only heaven to which earth's children may lyre is

: aspire.

Childe Harold.

When we take up the works of a poet, we expect to find in them something that shall give us an exalted idea of God and heaven-that shall raise our thoughts or that shall at least create in us such a train of feelings, that when we close the volume, we shall rise with a consciousness that Ambition's honour'd fools there let them rot, though life be in some degree rough and deserves nothing but contempt. While thorny, yet the steady practice of rehis country was engaged in a desperate ligion and virtue will enable us to conflict, did he wield the sword-did he bear its ills with patience, looking devote his own powerful genius in her unto the recompense of reward. behalf? No; rambling in a foreign who ever took up one of Lord Byron's land, he turned the powers he possess-poems with such feelings, and did ed against her, and falsely charged

her as one

who fights for all but ever fights in vain. Love has been the theme of many

But

not find that it cast a chilling damp over his thoughts a gloom which endeavoured to chain his soul to earth and earthly things? Who, I ask, ever

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found one persuasive to religion, or one incentive to virtue, in all he has ever written? His feelings are not those feelings which "wonder at their own sweet will," scattering beauty around them and which picture this earth as a path

-a flowery path to heavenly skies. No; he never touches upon these things he draws but one portrait-it is that of a man laden with iniquitywho lives in settled gloom-gnashing his teeth in silence--and who views his own vicious actions without remorse. It is that of a man who keeps aloof from his fellow-creatures-devoid of every social feeling, and foremost in every crime. Burns, the dissipated Burns, had far loftier ideas of all that is great and good, than this man; and knew much more of the duty of a real poet-for in one of his letters he declares that an "irreligious poet is a monster."

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But is there any hope of a changeof a renunciation of those infidel principles which he now cherishes? It is true that there are hints and passages in his writings, which indicate better feelings; but these recur but seldom, they come like shadows, so depart. Perhaps it might be wrong to say that such a change is impossible; but we are obliged to say, it is unlikely, for tho' we may be willing to hope that he will one day come to that fountain which is open for sin and for uncleanness, yet we must recollect that men do not gather figs of thorns, or grapes of thistles.

Your's respectfully,

Bridge Street, Derby.

Anecdotes.

G. M.

MR. EDITOR, SIR,-If the following Anecdotes comport with the design of your excellent miscellany, I shall be glad to see them inserted in its columns.

Your's, ex animo,
OCTAVIAN.

Skelton, Cleveland, Yorkshire.

A MISTAKE.

Two poor Cottagers looking into a country church, just as the minister was giving out his text, "A light to lighten the Gentiles, &c." "Come along," said the one to the other, "I told you it was

258

for the Gentlefolks, we have nothing to do with it; hear what he says, A light to lighten the Gentlefolks.

Are there not Heathens in Albion, as well as in Owhyhee?

FULFILMENT OF A PREDICTION.

A Gentleman travelling in a stage coach, attempted to divert the company by ridiculing the Scriptures, a common practice with the sceptics of the present day. "As to the prophecies," said he," in particular, they were all written after the events took place." Aminister in the coach, who had hitherto been silent, replied, Sir, I must beg leave to mention one remarkable prophecy as an exception, 2 Pet. iii. 2. Knowing this first, that there shall come in the latter days scoffers." Now Sir, whether the event be not long after the prediction, I leave the company to judge.

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The mouth of the scorner was stopped!

DEVOTION NOT TO BE CONSTRAINED.

AN Arabian once, in a mosque where Ali was present, said his prayers in such an improper manner of pronunciation, as enraged, the caliph: who, when he had ended, reproved him, and, hurling his slippers at him, commanded him to repeat them, which he did with great propriety of tone and emphasis. After he had done, says Ali, "Surely thy last prayers were better than the former." By no means," replied the Arab, "for the first I said from devotion to God, but the last from the blow of thy slippers!"

ANECDOTE OF DR. GIFFORD.

As the late Dr. Gifford was one day shewing the British Museum to strangers, he was much hurt by the profane conversation of a young gentleman present. The Doctor taking an ancient copy of the Septuagint, and shewing it to him-"Oh," said the gentleman, "I can read this." Well," said the Doctor, read that passage," pointing to the third commandment. Here, the gentleman was so struck, that he immediately left off swearing.

66

66

How apposite is a word in season!

Distinction between ALSO and LIkewise. A Quaker, in one of our courts of justice, being borne upon by the opposite counsel harder than he liked, em

259

66

The Moralizer.No. 6.

braced an opportunity to retaliate, "Why, said he to the lawyer, dost thou use the word also and likewise in the same sense?" Why not, replied the learned gentleman; where is the difference? I will convince thee, rejoined the Quaker, that there is a difference. Here, for instance, is Mr. he is my counsel; and thou art a counsellor also; but thou art not a counsellor like wise,"

THE MORALIZER. NO. 6.1 Saturday, November 4th, 1820.

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Themistocles, the Athenian general, at the close of a war, the success of which had been principally secured by the propriety of his counsels and the decision of his conduct, entered a public assembly; where he was received with such a burst of applause, and distinguished by such marks of respect, as to extort the confession, that he regarded his feelings, at that moment, a full compensation for all his exertions, his oppositions, and his labours. Nor is it less generally understood, that a celebrated writer of the last century, whose productions have eminently promoted the interests of virtue, and whose name is securely enrolled in the lists of immortality, expressed his satisfaction, at having been selected as the object of popular attention, and plebeian admiration.

Yet this tribute of respect, however merited, and however awarded, influences multitudes, whose pretensions to celebrity are more unassuming, and whose desires for distinction are less, ardent. The love of fame is a passion whose agency is as uniformly admitted, as its effects are universally experienced; and whose direction must be determined by the several situations of those, who are the subjects of its operations. But neither is its essential existence destroyed by a limitation of its sphere of exertion; nor its native force diminished by a paucity of incentives to action. A principle so forcible, will no more disdain the solitary savage, than it will dread the civilized citizen; and will be equally eager to exhibit the efficacy of its operations, in the rustic group, as in the regal hall.Whether dancing in the mazes of diversion, or diving into the recesses of

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solitude; whether gazing at the competition of the great, or sighing in the cell of the contrite; little sagacity will be needed, in order to discover the hope of excellence in every station, and to detect it under every disguise.-The merchant prides himself on the comparative superiority of his wares; and the husbandman on the early maturity of his fruits. The critic values himself on his display of penetration, in the exposure of a blemish; and the philosopher, on his profundity of investigation, in the defence of a system.

That those, however, who possess fewest attainments, evince most presumption, is a position, in the establishment of which, we must not allow general consent to supply the deficiency of certain evidence. It is not indeed surprising, that this opinion should be so commonly received, and so industriously propagated; since its adoption may appear an object of interest to no inconsiderable part of our community. Real worth, it will be admitted, may naturally regard with disgust, the unmerited preference paid to obsequiousness of manners; and on this principle, there exists no difficulty in accounting for that supercilious contempt, with which the advocates of learning and virtue have almost invariably surveyed those, whose sole recommendations have been rather splendid than useful, and showy than substantial. The immoderate indulgence of any affection, though in itself laudable, becomes pernicious; and that food, which if taken in due quantity might have contributed to the preservation of life, is thus converted into deadly poison.

It was the incitement of popular adulation, in conjunction with passions no less vigorous, which induced the conqueror of Asia to act as a lawless incendiary, in the performance of an exploit, which was succeeded in the mind of the monarch by the upbraidings of conscious guilt, and the bitterness of ineffectual penitence; and it has been the misfortune of multitudes, to mistake the voice of the vulgar for the instructions of reason, and repose a firmer reliance on the interested decisions of others, than on the more certain dictates of self-conviction. But the conduct of some characters, whose abilities have never been submitted to public notice and admiration, furnishes sufficient evidence, that the principle

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