"What can be expected," said I to him, "from a fiveact play, finished in four weeks?”

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"I mean to dedicate Werner," said he, " to Goëthe. I "look upon him as the greatest genius that the age has produced. I desired Murray to inscribe his name to a "former work; but he pretends my letter containing the "order came too late.--It would have been more worthy "of him than this."

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"I have a great curiosity about every thing relating "to Goethe, and please myself with thinking there is some analogy between our characters and writings. So "much interest do I take in him, that I offered to give "100l. to any person who would translate his 'Memoirs,' "for my own reading.* Shelley has sometimes explained part of them to me. He seems to be very superstitious, "and is a believer in astrology, or rather was, for he

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was very young when he wrote the first part of his Life.

“I would give the world to read 'Faust' in the original.

* An English translation of this interesting work has lately appeared, in 2 vols. 8vo.

“I have been urging Shelley to translate it; but he said "that the translator of 'Wallenstein' was the only person

living who could venture to attempt it;-that he had "written to Coleridge, but in vain. For a man to trans"late it, he must think as he does."

"How do you explain," said I, " the first line,

The sun thunders through the sky'?"

"He speaks of the music of the spheres in Heaven," said he," where, as in Job, the first scene is laid."

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"Since you left us," said Lord Byron, "I have seen Hobhouse for a few days. Hobhouse is the oldest and the best friend I have.

What scenes we have witnessed

together! Our friendship began at Cambridge. We "led the same sort of life in town, and travelled in com"pany a great part of the years 1809, 10, and 11. He "was present at my marriage, and was with me in 1816, after my separation. We were at Venice, and visited "Rome together, in 1817. The greater part of my 'Childe Harold' was composed when we were together,

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and I could do no less in gratitude than dedicate the

complete poem to him. The First Canto was inscribed "to one of the most beautiful little creatures I ever saw, "then a mere child: Lady Charlotte Harleigh was my "Ianthe.

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"Hobhouse's Dissertation on Italian literature is much

superior to his Notes on 'Childe Harold.' Perhaps he "understood the antiquities better than Nibbi, or any of "the Cicerones; but the knowledge is somewhat misplaced where it is. Shelley went to the opposite extreme, and never made any notes.

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"Hobhouse has an excellent heart: he fainted when he "heard a false report of my death in Greece, and was wonderfully affected at that of Matthews-a much more

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able man than the Invalid. You have often heard me

speak of him. The tribute I paid to his memory was a very inadequate one, and ill expressed what I felt at "his loss."

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It

The same

may be asked when Lord Byron writes. question was put to Madame de Staël: "Vous ne comptez pas sur ma chaise-à-porteur," said she. I am often with him

from the time he gets up till two or three o'clock in the morning, and after sitting up so late he must require rest; but he produces, the next morning, proofs that he has not been idle. Sometimes when I call, I find him at his desk; but he either talks as he writes, or lays down his pen to play at billiards till it is time to take his airing. He seems to be able to resume the thread of his subject at all times, and to weave it of an equal texSuch talent is that of an improvisatore. The fairness too of his manuscripts (I do not speak of the handwriting) astonishes no less than the perfection of every thing he writes. He hardly ever alters a word for whole pages, and never corrects a line in subsequent editions. I do not believe that he has ever read his works over since he examined the proof-sheets; and yet he remembers every word of them, and every thing else worth remembering that he has ever known.

ture.

I never met with any man who shines so much in conversation. He shines the more, perhaps, for not seeking to shine. His ideas flow without effort, without his having occasion to think. As in his letters, he is not nice about expressions or words; there are no concealments in him, no injunctions to secresy. He tells every thing

that he has thought or done without the least reserve, and as if he wished the whole world to know it; and does not throw the slightest gloss over his errors. Brief himself, he is impatient of diffuseness in others, hates long stories, and seldom repeats his own. If he has heard a story you are telling, he will say, “You told me that," and with good humour sometimes finish it for you himself.

He hates argument, and never argues for victory. He gives every one an opportunity of sharing in the conversation, and has the art of turning it to subjects that may bring out the person with whom he converses. He never shews the author, prides himself most on being a man of the world and of fashion, and his anecdotes of life and living characters are inexhaustible. In spirits, as in every thing else, he is ever in extremes.

Miserly in trifles-about to lavish his whole fortune on the Greeks; to-day diminishing his stud-to-morrow taking a large family under his roof, or giving 1000l. for a yacht ;*

He sold it for 300l. and refused to give the sailors their jackets; and offered once to bet Hay that he would live on 601. a-year!