By the extract just given from his Journal, it will be perceived that, in Byron’s own opinion, a character which, like his, admitted of so many contradictory comparisons, could not be otherwise than wholly undefinable itself.  It will be found, however, on reflection, that this very versatility, which renders it so difficult to fix, “ere it change,” the fairy fabric of his character, is, in itself, the true clue through all that fabric’s mazes,—­is in itself the solution of whatever was most dazzling in his might or startling in his levity, of all that most attracted and repelled, whether in his life or his genius.  A variety of powers almost boundless, and a pride no less vast in displaying them,—­a susceptibility of new impressions and impulses, even beyond the usual allotment of genius, and an uncontrolled impetuosity, as well from habit as temperament, in yielding to them,—­such were the two great and leading sources of all that varied spectacle which his life exhibited; of that succession of victories achieved by his genius, in almost every field of mind that genius ever trod, and of all those sallies of character in every shape and direction that unchecked feeling and dominant self-will could dictate.

It must be perceived by all endowed with quick powers of association how constantly, when any particular thought or sentiment presents itself to their minds, its very opposite, at the same moment, springs up there also:—­if any thing sublime occurs, its neighbour, the ridiculous, is by its side;—­across a bright view of the present or the future, a dark one throws its shadow;—­and, even in questions respecting morals and conduct, all the reasonings and consequences that may suggest themselves on the side of one of two opposite courses will, in such minds, be instantly confronted by an array just as cogent on the other.  A mind of this structure,—­and such, more or less, are all those in which the reasoning is made subservient to the imaginative faculty,—­though enabled, by such rapid powers of association, to multiply its resources without end, has need of the constant exercise of a controlling judgment to keep its perceptions pure and undisturbed between the contrasts it thus simultaneously calls up; the obvious danger being that, where matters of taste are concerned, the habit of forming such incongruous juxtapositions—­as that, for example, between the burlesque and sublime—­should at last vitiate the mind’s relish for the nobler and higher quality; and that, on the yet more important subject of morals, a facility in finding reasons for every side of a question may end, if not in the choice of the worst, at least in a sceptical indifference to all.