Kitabı oku: «Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 66, No. 407, September, 1849», sayfa 15

It was a noble spectacle to behold a young Queen, at a time when scarce a monarch in Europe was secure on his throne, setting out with her illustrious consort and family to make a royal progress through her dominions, and selecting for the first place of her visit the island which had so recently raised the standard of rebellion against her government, and for the next the city which had first in the empire responded to the cry of treason raised in Paris, on the overthrow of the throne of Louis Philippe. Nor has the result failed to correspond, even more happily than could have been hoped, to the gallant undertaking. If it be true, as is commonly reported, that our gracious sovereign said, "She went to Ireland to make friends, but to the Land of Cakes to find them," she must by this time have been convinced that the generous design has, in both islands, proved successful beyond what her most enthusiastic friends could have dared to hope. Who could have recognised, in the multitudes which thronged to witness her passage through Cork, Dublin, and Belfast, and the universal acclamations with which she was everywhere received by all classes of her subjects, the chief cities of an island long torn by civil dissension, and which had only a year before broken out into actual rebellion against her government? Who could have recognised in the youthful sovereign visiting the public buildings of Dublin, like a private peeress, without any of the state of a Sovereign, and chiefly interested with her royal consort in the institutions devoted to beneficence, the Head of a Government whom The Nation had so long represented as callous to all the sufferings of the people? And during the magnificent spectacle of the royal progress through Glasgow, where five hundred thousand persons were assembled from that great city, and the neighbouring counties, to see their Queen – and she passed for three miles through stately structures, loaded with loyalty, under an almost continued archway of flags, amidst incessant and deafening cheers – who could have believed he was in a city in which democratic revolt had actually broken out only eighteen months before, and the walls had all been placarded, on the day when London was menaced, with treasonable proclamations, calling on the people to rise in their thousands and tens of thousands against the throne? And how blessed the contrast to the condition of Scotland when her last Queen had been in that neighbourhood, and the towers of Glasgow cathedral looked down on Morton issuing from the then diminutive borough, to assail, in the immediate vicinity at Langside, the royal army headed by Mary, and drive her to exile, captivity, and death.³⁴

We are not foolish enough to expect impossibilities from the Queen's visit, – how splendid and gratifying soever its circumstances may have been. We know well how many and deep-rooted are the social evils which in both islands afflict society, and we are not so simple as to imagine that they will be removed by the sight of the Sovereign, as the innocent peasants believe that all physical diseases will be cured by the royal touch. We are well aware that the impression of even the most splendid pageants is often only transitory, and that sad realities sometimes return with accumulated force after they are over, from the contrast they present to imaginative vision. Still a step, and that, too, a most important one, has been taken in the right direction. If great, and, in some respects, lasting good has been done – if evils remain, as remain they ever will, in the present complicated condition of society, and the contending interests which agitate its bosom – one evil, and that the greatest of all, is lessened, and that is an estrangement between the People and their Sovereign. Crimes may return; but the recurrence of the greatest of all, because it is the parent of all others – high treason – is for a time, to any extent at least, rendered impossible. The most sacred and important of all bonds, that which unites the sovereign and her subjects, has been materially strengthened. The most noble of all feelings, the disinterested affection of a people to their Queen, has been called into generous and heart-stirring action. The "unbought loyalty of men, the cheap defence of nations," is not at an end. And if the effect of the Royal Visit were only that, in the greatest cities of her dominions, our gracious sovereign, in an age unusually devoted to material influences, has succeeded, by the sweetness and grace of her manners, in causing the hearts of some hundred thousands of her subjects to throb with loyal devotion, and, for a time at least, supplanted the selfish by the generous emotions – the effect is not lost to the cause of order and the moral elevation of her people.

Dies Boreales

No. IV

CHRISTOPHER UNDER CANVASS

Scene —The Pavilion

Time —One P.M

Buller – Seward – Talboys – North

TALBOYS

Here he is – here he is! I traced him by Crutch-print to the Van – like an old Stag of Ten to his lair by the Slot.

SEWARD

Thank heaven! But was this right, my dear sir?

BULLER

Your Majesty ought not thus to have secreted yourself from your subjects.

SEWARD

We feared you had absconded – abdicated – and retired into a Monastery.

BULLER

We have all been miserable about you since an early hour in the morning – invisible to mortal eye since yester bed-going gong – regal couch manifestly unslept in – tent after tent scrutinised as narrowly as if for a mouse – Swiss Giantess searched as if by custom-house officers – no Christopher in the Encampment – what can I compare it to – but a Bee-hive that had lost its Queen. The very Drones were in a ferment – the workers demented – dismal the hum of grief and rage – of national lamentation and civil war.

NORTH

Billy could have told you of my retreat.

SEWARD

Billy was in a state of distraction – rushed to the Van – and, finding it empty, fainted.

NORTH

Billy saw me in the Van – and I told him to shut the spring smartly – and be mum.

BULLER

Villain!

NORTH

Obedience to orders is the sum-total of Duty. Most of the men seem tolerably sober – those whom despair had driven to drink have been sent to sleeping-quarters – the Camp has recovered from its alarm – and is fit for Inspection by the General Commanding the Forces.

SEWARD

But have you breakfasted, my dear sir?

NORTH

Leave me alone for that. What have you all been about?

TALBOYS

We three started at Five for Luib, in high glee.

NORTH

What! in face of my prediction? Did I not tell you that in that dull, dingy, dirty, ochre sunset – in that wan moon and those tallow-candle stars – I saw the morning's Deluge.

BULLER

But did you not also quote Sir David Brewster? "In the atmosphere in which he lives and breathes, and the phenomena of which he daily sees, and feels, and describes, and measures, the philosopher stands in acknowledged ignorance of the laws which govern it. He has ascertained, indeed, its extent, its weight, and its composition; but though he has mastered the law of heat and moisture, and studied the electric agencies which influence its condition, he cannot predict, or even approximate to a prediction, whether on the morrow the sun shall shine, or the rain fall, or the wind blow, or the lightning descend."

NORTH

And all that is perfectly true. Nevertheless, we weather-wise and weather-foolish people – not Philosophers but Empirics – sailors and shepherds – with all our eyes on the lower and the higher heavens – gather up prognostications of the character of the coming time – an hour or a day – take in our canvass and set our storm-jib – or run for some bay where the prudent ship shall ride at anchor, as safe and almost as motionless as if she were in a dry-dock; or off to the far hill-side to look after the silly sheep – yet not so silly either – for there they are, instinctive of a change, lying secured by that black belt of Scotch-Firs against the tempest brewing over Lockerby or Lochmaben – far from the loun Bilholm Braes! – You Three, started at Five o'clock for Luib?

TALBOYS

I rejoice we did. A close carriage is in all weathers detestable – your vehicle should be open to all skyey influences – with nothing about it that can be set up or let down – otherwise some one or other of the party – on some pretence or other – will be for shutting you all in. And then – Farewell, Thou green Earth – Thou fair Day – and ye Skies! It had apparently been raining for some little time —

NORTH

For six hours, and more heavily, I do think, than I ever heard it rain before in this watery world. Having detected a few drops in the ceiling of my cubiculum, I had slipt away to the Van on the first blash of the business – and from that hour to this have been under the Waterfall – as snug as a Kelpie.

TALBOYS

In we got – well jammed together – a single gentleman, or even two, would have been blown out – and after some remonstrances with the old Greys, we were off to Luib. Long before we were nearly half-way up the brae behind the Camp, Seward complained that the water was running down his back – but ere we reached the top, that inconvenience and every other was merged. The carriage seemed to be in a sinking state, somewhere about Achlian; and rolling before the rain-storm – horses we saw none – it needed no great power of imagination to fear we were in the Loch. At this juncture we came all at once close upon – and into – an appalling crash, and squash, and splash – a plunging, rushing, groaning, and moaning, and roaring – which for half-a-minute baffled conjecture. The Bridge – you know it, sir – the old Bridge, that Seward was never tired of sketching – going – going – gone; down it went – men, horses, all, at the very parapet, And sent us with a jaup in among the Woods.

NORTH

Do you mean to say you were on the Bridge as it sunk?

TALBOYS

I know nothing about it. How should I? We were in the heart of the Noise – we were in the heart of the Water – we were in the heart of the Wood – we, the vehicle, the horses – the same horses, I believe, that were standing behind the Camp when we mounted – though I had not seen them distinctly since, till I recognised them madly galloping in their traces up and down the foaming banks.

NORTH

Were you all on this side of the River?

TALBOYS

Ultimately we were – else how could we have got here? You seem incredulous, sir. Mind me – I don't say we were on the Bridge – and went down with it. It is an open question – and in the absence of dispassionate witnesses must be settled by probabilities. Sorry that, though the Driver saved himself, the Vehicle in the mean time should be lost – with all the Rods.

NORTH

They will be recovered on a change of weather. How and when got ye back?

TALBOYS

On horseback. Buller behind Seward – myself before a man who occasionally wore a look of the Driver. I hope it was he – if it was not – the Driver must have been drowned. We had now the wind – that is, the storm – that is, the hurricane in our faces – and the animals every other minute wheeled about and stood rooted for many minutes to the road, with their tails towards Cladich. My body had fortunately lost all sensation hours before we regained the Camp.

NORTH

Hours! How long did it take you to accomplish the two miles?

TALBOYS

I did not time it; but we entered the Great Gate of the Camp to the sound of the Breakfast Bagpipes.

SEWARD

As soon as we had changed ourselves – as you say in Scotland —

TALBOYS

Let's bother Mr North no more about it. With exception of the Bridge, 'tis not worth talking of – and we ought to be thankful it was not Night. Then what a delightful feeling of security now, sir, from all intrusion of vagrant visitors from the Dalmally side! By this time communication must be cut off with Edinburgh and Glasgow —via Inverary – so the Camp is virtually insulated. In ordinary weather, there is no calling the Camp our own. So far back as yesterday only, 8 English – 4 German – 3 French – 29 Italian – 1 Irish, all Male, many mustached – and from those and other countries, nearly an equal number of Female – some mustached too – "but that not much."

NORTH

Impossible indeed it is to enjoy one hour's consciousness of secure solitude, in this most unsedentary age of the world. – Look there. Who the deuce are you, sir? Do you belong to Cloud-land – and have you made an involuntary descent in the deluge? Or are you of the earth earthy? Off, sir – off to the back premises. Enter the Pavilion at your peril, you Phenomenon. Turn him out, Talboys.

TALBOYS

Then I must turn out myself. I stepped forth for a moment to the Front —

NORTH

And have in that moment been transmogrified into the Man of the Moon. A false alarm. But methinks you might have been satisfied with the Bridge.

TALBOYS

It is clearing up, sir – it is clearing up – pails and buckets, barrels and hogsheads, fountains and tanks, are no longer the order of the day. Jupiter Pluvius is descending on Juno with moderated impetuosity – is restricting himself to watering pans and garden engines – there is reason to suspect, from the look of the atmosphere, that the supplies are running short – that in a few hours the glass will be up to Stormy – and hurra, then, for a week of fine, sunshiny, shadowy, breezy, balmy, angling Weather! Why, it is almost fair now. I do trust that we shall have no more of those dry, dusty, sandy, gravelly days, so unlike Lochawe-side, and natural only in Modern Athens or the Great Desert. Hark! it is clearing up. That is always the way with thorough-bred rain – desperate spurt or rush at the end – a burst when blown – dead-beat —

SEWARD

Mr North, matters are looking serious, sir.

NORTH

I believe there is no real danger.

SEWARD

The Pole is cracking —

TALBOYS

Creacking. All the difference in the world between these two words. The insertion of the letter E converts danger into safety – trepidation into confidence – a Tent into a Rock.

BULLER

I have always forgot to ask if the Camp is insured?

NORTH

An insurance was effected, on favourable terms, on the Swiss Giantess before she came into my possession – the Trustees are answerable for the Van – the texture of the Tents is tough to resist the Winds – and the stuff itself was re-steeped during winter in pyroligneous acid of my own invention, which has been found as successful with canvass as with timber. Deeside, the Pavilion and her fair Sisterhood are impervious alike to Wet and Dry Rot – Fire and Water.

TALBOYS

You can have no idea, sir, of the beautiful running of our Drains. When were they dug?

NORTH

Yestreen – at dusk. Not a field in Scotland the worse of being drained – my lease from Monzie allows it – a good landlord deserves a good tenant; and though it is rather late in the year for such operations, I ventured on the experiment – partly for sake of the field itself, and partly for sake of self-preservation. Not pioneers, and miners, and sappers alone – the whole Force were employed under the Knave of Spades – open drains meanwhile – to be all covered in – with tiles – ere we shift quarters.

TALBOYS

A continuance of this weather for a day or two will bring them up in shoals from the Loch – Undoubtedly we shall have Eels. I delight in drain-angling. Silver Eels! Gold Fish! You shall be wheeled out, my dear sir, in Swing, and the hand of your own Talboys shall disengage the first "Fish, without fins" from the Wizard's Hook.

SEWARD

And he shall be sketched by his own Seward, in a moment of triumph, and lithographed by Schenck for the forthcoming Edition of Tom Stoddart.

BULLER

And his own Buller shall make the chips fly like Michael Angelo – and from the marble block evolve a Christopher Piscator not unworthy a Steele – or a Macdonald.

NORTH

Lay aside your tackle, Talboys, and let us talk.

TALBOYS

I am never so talkative as over my tackle.

BULLER

Lay it aside then, Talboys, at Mr North's request.

TALBOYS

Would, my dear sir, you had been with me on Thursday, to witness the exploits of this Griesly Palmer. Miles up Glensrae, you come – suddenly on the left – in a little glen of its own – on such a jewel of a Waterfall. Not ten feet tall – in the pleasure-grounds of a lowland mansion 'twould be called a Cascade. But soft as its voice is, there is something in it that speaks the Cataract. You discern the Gaelic gurgle – and feel that the Fountain is high up in some spot of greensward among heather-hills. Snow-white it is not – almost as translucent as the pool into which it glides. You see through it the green ledge it slides over with a gentle touch – and seeking its own way, for a few moments, among some mossy cones, it slips, without being wearied, into its place of rest, which it disturbs not beyond a dimple that beautifies the quivering reflection of the sky. A few birch-trees – one much taller than the rest – are all the trees that are there – but that sweetest of all scents assures you of the hawthorn – and old as the hills – stunted in size – but full-leaved and budded as if in their prime – a few hawthorns close by among the clefts. But why prattle thus to you, my dear sir? – no doubt you know it well – for what beautiful secret in the Highlands is unknown to Christopher North?

NORTH

I do know it well; and your description – so much better than I could have drawn – has brought it from the dimmer regions of memory, "into the study of imagination."

TALBOYS

After a few circling sweeps to show myself my command of my gear, and to give the Naiad warning to take care of her nose, I let drop this Griesly Palmer, who alighted as if he had wings. A Grilse! I cried – a Grilse! No, a Sea-trout – an Amber Witch – a White Lady – a Daughter of Pearl – whom with gentle violence and quick despatch I solicited to the yellow sands – and folding not my arms, as is usual in works of fiction, slightly round her waist – but both hands, with all their ten fingers, grasping her neck and shoulders to put the fair creature out of pain – in with her – in with her into my Creel – and again to business. It is on the First Victim of the Day, especially if, as in this case, a Bouncer, an angler fondly dwells in reminiscence – each successive captive – however engrossing the capture – loses its distinct individuality in the fast accumulating crowd; and when, at close of day, sitting down among the broom, to empty and to count, it is on the First Victim that the angler's eye reposes – in refilling, it is the First Victim you lay aside to crown the treasure – in wending homewards it is on the First Victim's biography you muse; and at home – in the Pavillon – it is the First Victim you submit to the critical ken of Christopher —

BULLER

Especially if, as in this case, she be a Bouncer.

NORTH

You pride yourself on your recitation of poetry, Talboys. Charm us with the finest descriptive passage you can remember from the British Poets. Not too loud – not too loud – this is not Exeter Hall – nor are you about to address the Water-witch from the top of Ben-Lomond.

TALBOYS

 
"But thou, Clitumnus! in thy sweetest wave
Of the most living crystal that was e'er
The haunt of river nymph, to gaze and lave
Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear
Thy grassy banks, whereon the milk-white steer
Grazes; the purest god of gentle waters!
And most serene of aspect, and most clear;
Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters —
A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters!
 
 
"And on thy happy shore a Temple still,
Of small and delicate proportion, keeps,
Upon a mild declivity of hill,
Its memory of thee; beneath it sweeps
Thy current's calmness; oft from out it leaps
The finny darter with the glittering scales,
Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps;
While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails
Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubblin-tales.
 
 
"Pass not unblest the Genius of the place!
If through the air a zephyr more serene
Win to the brow, 'tis his; and if ye trace
Along his margin a more eloquent green,
If on the heart the freshness of the scene
Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust
Of weary life a moment lave it clean
With Nature's baptism, – 'tis to him ye must
Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust."
 

NORTH

Admirably said and sung. Your low tones, Talboys, are earnest and impressive; and you recite, like all true lovers of song, in the spirit of soliloquy, as if you were yourself the sole listener. How I hate Spouting. Your elocutionist makes his mouth a jet d'eau– and by his gestures calls on all the auditors to behold the performance. From the lips of the man who has music in his soul, the words of inspiration flow as from a natural fountain, for his soul has made them its own – and delights to feel in their beauty an adequate expression of its own emotions.

TALBOYS

I spoke them, to myself – but I was still aware of your presence, my dear sir.

NORTH

The Stanzas are fine – but are they the finest in Descriptive Poetry?

TALBOYS

I do not say so, sir. Any request of yours I interpret liberally, and accede to at once. Finer stanzas there may be – many; but I took them because they first came to heart. "Beautiful exceedingly" they are – they may not be faultless.

NORTH

Sir Walter has said – "Perhaps there are no verses in our language of happier descriptive power than the two stanzas which characterise the Clitumnus."

TALBOYS

Then I am right.

NORTH

Perhaps you are. Scott loved Byron – and it is ennobling to hear one great Poet praising another: yet the stanzas which so delighted our Minstrel may not be so felicitous as they seemed to be to his moved imagination.

TALBOYS

Possibly not.

NORTH

In the First Stanza what do we find?, An apostrophe – "Thou Clitumnus," not yet quite an Impersonation – a few lines on, an Impersonation of the Stream —

 
" – the purest God of gentlest waters!
And most serene of aspect, and most clear."
 

What is gained by this Impersonation? Nothing. For the qualities here attributed to the River-God are the very same that had already been attributed to the water – purity – serenity – clearness. "Sweetest wave of the most living crystal" – affects us just as much – here I think more than the two lines about the God. And observe, that no sooner is the God introduced than he disappears. His coming and his going are alike unsatisfactory – for his coming gives us no new emotion, and his going is instantly followed by lines that have no relation to his Godship at all.

TALBOYS

Why – why – I really don't know.

NORTH

I have mildly – and inoffensively to all the world – that is, to all us Four – shown one imperfection; and I think – I feel there is another – in this Stanza. "The sweetest wave of the most living crystal" is visioned to us in the opening lines as the haunt "of river nymph, to gaze and lave her limbs where nothing hid them," – and we are pleased; it is visioned to us, in the concluding line, as "the mirror and the bath for Beauty's youngest daughters " – and we are not pleased; or if we are, but for a moment – for it is, as nearly as may be, the same vision over again – a mirror and a bath!

TALBOYS

But then, sir —

NORTH

Well?

TALBOYS

Go on, sir.

NORTH

I am not sure that I understand "Beauty's youngest daughters."

TALBOYS

Why, small maidens from ten to twelve years old, who in their innocent beauty may bathe without danger, and in their innocent self-admiration may gaze without fear.

NORTH

Then is the expression at once commonplace and obscure.

TALBOYS

Don't say so, sir.

NORTH

Think you Byron means the Graces?

TALBOYS

He does – he does – the Graces sure enough – the Graces.

NORTH

Whatever it means – it means no more than we had before. A descriptive Stanza should ever be progressive, and at the close complete. To my feeling, "slaughters" had better been kept far away from the imagination as from the eyes. I know Byron alludes here to the Sanguinetto of the preceding Stanza. But he ought not to have alluded to it – the contrast is complete without such reference – between the river we are delighting in and the blood-named torrent that has passed away. Why, then, force such an image back, upon us – when of ourselves we should never have thought of it, and it is the last image we should desire to see?

TALBOYS

Allow me a few minutes to consider —

NORTH

A day. Will you be so good, Talboys, as tell me in ten words the meaning of – in the next Stanza – "keeps its memory of Thee"?

TALBOYS

I will immediately.

NORTH

To my mind – angler as I am —

TALBOYS

The Prince of Anglers.

NORTH

To my mind, two lines and a half about Fishes are here too much – "finny darter" seems conceited – and "dwells and revels" needlessly strong – and the frequent rising of "finny darters with the glittering scales" to me seems hardly consistent with the solemn serenity inspired by the Temple, "of small and delicate proportion" "keeping its memory of Thee," – whatever that may mean; – nor do I think that a poetical mind like Byron's, if fully possessed in ideal contemplation with the beauty of the whole, would have thought so much of such an occurrence, or dwelt upon it with so many words.

TALBOYS

I wish that finny darters with the glittering scales had oft leaped from out thy current's calmness, Thou Glenorchy, yesterday – but not a fin could I stir with finest tackle and Double-Nothings.

NORTH

That is no answer, either one way or another, to my gentle demur to the perfection of the stanzas. The "scattered water-lily" may be well enough – so let it pass – with this ob, that the flower of the water-lily is not easily separated from its stalk – and is not, in that state, eligible as an image of peace.

TALBOYS

It is of beauty.

NORTH

Be it so. But, is "scattered" the right word? No. A water-lily to be scattered must be torn– for you scatter many, not one – a fleet, not a ship – a flock of sheep, not one lamb. A solitary water-lily – broken off and drifting by, has, as you said, its own beauty – and Byron doubtlessly intended that – but he has not said it – he has said the reverse – for a "scattered" water-lily is a dishevelled water-lily – a water-lily no more – a dispersed or dispersing multitude of leaves – of what had been a moment before – a Flower.

TALBOYS

The image pleases everybody – take it as you find it, and be content.

NORTH

I take it as I find it, and am not content; I take it as I don't find it, and am. Then I gently demur to "still tells its bubbling tales." In Gray's line —

"And pore upon the brook that babbles by,"

the word "babbles" is the right one – a mitigated "brawling" – a continuous murmur without meaning, till you give it one or many – like that of some ceaseless female human being, pleasantly accompanying your reveries that have no relation to what you hear. Her blameless babble has that effect – and were it to stop, you would awake. But Byron's "shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales" – a tale is still about something – however small – and pray what is that something? Nothing. "Tales," then, is not the very word here – nor will "bubbling" make it so – at best it is a prettyism rather than Poetry. The Poet is becoming a Poetaster.

TALBOYS

I shall never recite another finest descriptive passage from the whole range of our British Poets – during the course of my life – in this Pavilion.

NORTH

Let us look at the Temple.

TALBOYS

Be done, I beseech you, sir.

NORTH

Talboys, you have as logical – as legal a head as any man I know.

TALBOYS

What has a logical or legal head to do with Byron's description of the Clitumnus?

NORTH

As much as with any other "Process." And you know it. But you are in a most contradictory – I had almost said captious mood, this forenoon – and will not imbibe genially —

TALBOYS

Imbibe genially – acids – after having imbibed in the body immeasurable rain.

NORTH

Let us look at the Temple. "A Temple still" might mean a still temple.

TALBOYS

But it doesn't.

NORTH

A Poet's meaning should never, through awkwardness, be ambiguous. But no more of that. "Keeps its Memory of Thee" suggests to my mind that the Temple, dedicated of old to the River-God, retains, under the new religion of the land, evidence of the old Deification and Worship. The Temple survives to express to us of another day and faith, a Deification and worship of Thee – Clitumnus – dictated by the same apprehension of thy characteristic Beauty in the hearts of those old worshippers that now possesses ours looking on Thee. Thou art unchanged – the sensitive and imaginative intelligence of Thee in man is unchanged – although times have changed – states, nations – and, to the eyes of man, the heavens themselves! If all this be meant – all this is not said – in the words you admire.

TALBOYS

I cannot say, as an honest man, that I distinctly understand you, my dear sir.

NORTH

You understand me better than you understand Byron.

TALBOYS

I understand neither of you.

NORTH

The poetical thought seems to be here – that the Temple rises up spontaneously on the bank – under the power of the Beautiful in the river – a permanent self-sprung reflexion of that Beautiful – as indeed, to imagination, all things appear to create themselves!

TALBOYS

You speak like yourself now, sir.

NORTH

But look here, my good Talboys. The statue of Achilles may "keep its memory" – granting the locution to be good, which it is not – of Achilles – for Achilles is no more. Sink – in a rapture of thought – the hand of the artist – think that the statues of Achilles came of themselves– as unsown flowers come – for poets to express to all ages the departed Achilles. They keep – as long as they remain unperished – "their memory of Achilles" – they were from the beginning voluntary and intentional conservators of the Memory of the Hero. But Clitumnus is here– alive to this hour, and with every prospect of outliving his own Temple. What do you say to that?

TALBOYS

To what?

NORTH

Finally – if that reminiscence of the Heathen deification, which I first proposed, was in Byron's mind – and he means by "still keeps its memory of Thee" memory of the River-God – and of the Worship of the River-God – then all he says about the mere natural river – its leaping fishes, and so forth, is wide of his own purpose – and what is worse – implies an absurdity – a reminiscence – not of the past – but of the present.