the oldest and most
classical periodicals of Great Britain gives to a very stupid book,
simply because it was written by Lord Byron's mistress. That fact, we
are assured, lends grace even to its faults.

Having brought the authoress upon the stage, the review now goes on to
define her position, and assure the Christian world that

'The Countess Guiccioli was the daughter of an impoverished noble. At
the age of sixteen, she was taken from a convent, and sold as third
wife to the Count Guiccioli, who was old, rich, and profligate. A
fouler prostitution never profaned the name of marriage. A short time
afterwards, she accidentally met Lord Byron. Outraged and rebellious
nature vindicated itself in the deep and devoted passion with which he
inspired her. With the full assent of husband, father, and brother,
and in compliance with the usages of Italian society, he was shortly
afterwards installed in the office, and invested with all the
privileges, of her "Cavalier Servente."'

It has been asserted that the Marquis de Boissy, the late husband of this
Guiccioli lady, was in the habit of introducing her in fashionable
circles as 'the Marquise de Boissy, my wife, formerly mistress to Lord
Byron'! We do not give the story as a verity; yet, in the review of this
whole history, we may be pardoned for thinking it quite possible.

The mistress, being thus vouched for and presented as worthy of sympathy
and attention by one of the oldest and most classic organs of English
literature, may now proceed in her work of glorifying the popular idol,
and casting abuse on the grave of the dead wife.

Her attacks on Lady Byron are, to be sure, less skilful and adroit than
those of Lord Byron. They want his literary polish and tact; but what of
that? 'Blackwood' assures us that even the faults of manner derive a
peculiar grace from the fact that the narrator is Lord Byron's mistress;
and so we suppose the literary world must find grace in things like
this:--

'She has been called, after his words, the moral Clytemnestra of her
husband. Such a surname is severe: but the repugnance we feel to
condemning a woman cannot prevent our listening to the voice of
justice, which tells us that the comparison is still in favour of the
guilty one of antiquity; for she, driven to crime by fierce passion
overpowering reason, at least only deprived her husband of physical
life, and, in committi