He had passed on his way to
Albemarle Street the entrance to the Albany. Byron was lying there
asleep, but Zachariah, although he knew he was within fifty yards of
him, felt no emotion whatever. This was remarkable, for Byron's
influence, even in 1814, was singular, beyond that of all
predecessors and successors, in the wideness of its range. He was
read by everybody. Men and women who were accessible to no other
poetry were accessible to his, and old sea-captains, merchants,
tradesmen, clerks, tailors, milliners, as well as the best judges in
the land repeated his verses by the page.
Mrs. Coleman, having cleared away the tea-things, sat knitting till
half-past six. It was prayer-meeting night, and she never missed
going. Zachariah generally accompanied her, but he was not quite
presentable, and stayed at home. He went on with the Corsair, and as
he read his heart warmed, and he unconsciously found himself
declaiming several of the most glowing and eloquent lines aloud. He
was by nature a poet; essentially so, for he loved everything which
lifted him above what is commonplace. Isaiah, Milton, a storm, a
revolution, a great passion--with these he was at home; and his
education, mainly on the Old Testament, contributed greatly to the
development both of the strength and weakness of his character.
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