bleness; so that to _one_
error is added many crimes." Byron had now got on a favourite subject, and
went on decrying hypocrisy and cant, mingling sarcasms and bitter
observations on the false delicacy of the English. It is strange, but true
as strange, that he could not, or at least did not, distinguish the
distinction between cause and effect, in this case. The respect for virtue
will always cause spurious imitations of it to be given; and what he calls
hypocrisy, is but the respect to public opinion that induces people, who
have not courage to correct their errors, at least to endeavour to conceal
them; and Cant is the homage that Vice pays to Virtue.[1] We do not value
the diamond less, because there are so many worthless imitations of it,
and Goodness loses nothing of her intrinsic value because so many wish to
be thought to possess it. That nation may be considered to possess the
most virtue, where it is the most highly appreciated; and that the least,
where it is so little understood, that the semblance is not even assumed.

Byron is, I believe, sincere in his belief in supernatural appearances; he
assumes a grave and mysterious air when he talks on the subject, which he
is fond of doing, and has told me some extraordinary stories relative to
Mr. Shelley, who, he assures me, had an implicit belief in ghosts. He also
told me that Mr. Shelley's spectre had appeared to a lady, walking in a
garden, and he seemed to lay great stress on this. Though some of the
wisest of mankind, as witness Johnson, shared this weakness in common with
Byron; still there is something so unusual in our matter-of-fact days in
giving way to it, that I was at first doubtful that Byron was serious in
his belief. He is also superstitious about days, and other trifling
things,--believes in lucky and unlucky days,--dislikes undertaking any
thing on a Friday, helping or being helped to salt at table, spilling salt
or oil, letting bread fall, and breaking mirrors; in short, he gives way
to a thousand fantastical notions, that prove that even _l'esprit le plus
fort_ has its weak side.

[1] Rouchefoucault.

* * * * *

ODE TO THE GERMANS.

BY THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ.

The Spirit of Britannia
Invokes across the main,
Her sister Allemania
To burst the Tyrant's chain;
By our kindred blood she cries,
Rise Allemanians, rise,
And hallowed thrice the band
Of our kindred hearts shall be,