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. TALBOYS. If all that were submitted to me for the Pursuer, in Printed Papers--I should appoint answers to be given in by the Defender--within seven days--and within seven days after that--give judgment. NORTH. Keep your temper, Mr Testy. As I have no wish to sour you for the rest of the day, I shall say little about the Third Stanza. "Pass not unblest the Genius of the Place," would to me be a more impressive prayer, if there were more _spirituality_ in the preceding stanzas--and in the lines which follow it; for the Genius of the Place has been acting, and continues to act, almost solely on the Senses. And who is the Genius of the Place? The River-God--he to whom the Gentile worship built that Temple. But Byron says, most unpoetically, "along his margin"--along the margin of the Genius of the Place! Then, how flat--how poor--after "the Genius of the Place"--"_the freshness of the Scene_"--for the freshness of _the Scene_ bless the genius of _the Place_! Is that language flowing, from the emotion of a Poet's heart? And the last line spoils all; for he, whom we are to bless--the River-God--or the Genius of the Place--has given the heart but a "moment's" cleanness from dry dust--but a moment's, and no more! And never did hard, coarse Misanthropy so mar a Poet's purpose as by the shocking prose that is left grating on our souls--"_suspension of disgust_!" So, after all this beauty--and all this enjoyment of beauty--well or ill painted by the Poet--you _must pay orisons_ to the River-God or the Genius--whom you had been called onto _bless_--for a mere momentary suspension of disgust to all our fellow-creatures--a disgust that would return as strong--or stronger than ever--as soon as you got to Rome. TALBOYS. I confess I don't like it. NORTH. "MUST!" There are NEEDS of all sorts, shapes, and sizes. There is terrible necessity--there is bitter necessity--there is grinding necessity--there is fine--delicate--loving--playful necessity. TALBOYS. Sir? NORTH. There are MUSTS that fly upon the wings of devils--Musts that fly upon the wings of angels--Musts that walk upon the feet of men--Musts that flutter upon the wings of Fairies.--But I am dreaming!--Say on. TALBOYS. I think the day's clearing--let us launch Gutta Percha, Buller, and troll for a Ferox. NORTH.