outstep the limits of merited punishment, nevertheless he often did go
beyond the limits of a quality (he possessed not) which is raised to the
rank of a virtue, but which applied, despite conscience, to our personal
interests, is but selfishness and cowardice. And therein was he truly
sublime; for in attacking thus, not only the great men of the day, but
likewise the prejudices, idolatries, and passions belonging to such a
proud nation, he well knew the harm that would result to himself. But
Lord Byron was a real hero. So soon as his conscience spoke, he heard no
other voice, but kept his glance fixed on the light of justice and truth
beaming at the end of his career. Without looking to the right or to the
left, without taking into account the obstacles and dangers which
personal prudence counselled him to avoid, he held on his course;
exposed his noble breast to British vengeance pursuing him across the
Channel and the Alps, and then also to Genevan and Austrian shafts that
flew back again across the Alps and the Channel on the wings of dark,
fierce calumny.

Still I do not pretend to assert that, on some rare occasions, personal
suffering did not give rise to irritation and anger. He belonged to
humanity; and if, despite the harsh trials to which his sensibility was
exposed, he had escaped entirely from nature's laws, he would have been
not only heroic, but superhuman.

It is then very possible that, in the sad days preceding, accompanying,
and following on his separation from Lady Byron, he may have been
irritable. Such a host of evils overwhelmed him at once! He may have
allowed to escape his lips at that time some drops of the ocean of
bitterness with which his soul was overflowing. It is certain also that
when the Edinburgh critics made such cruel havoc with his heart and
mind, the over-excitement caused by this review had likewise for its
source the wounds inflicted on his self-love. Can we be astonished at
it, when we reflect that this senseless, wicked criticism succeeded to,
and contrasted strangely with, the praises awarded by such judges as
Mackenzie and Lord Woodhouse? They both had expressed their admiration
spontaneously, and without knowing the writer: one of them was the
celebrated author of the "Man of Feeling," and the other had brought out
many esteemed works, and was considered to be at the head of Scottish
literature. Besides, these cutting criticisms followed close on the
strong admiration exp