SIR JOHN CAM HOBHOUSE.

wherein he says- "The notes (to the fourth canto of Childe Harold) are numerous, and chiefly written by Mr. Hobhouse, whose researches have been indefatigable, and who, I will venture to say, has more real knowledge of Rome and its environs than any Englishman who has been there since Gibbon."

Some quarrel had taken place between the "Quarterly Review" and his friend, to which Byron drolly adverts in a letter to Mr. Murray-"Your new canto has expanded into 167 stanzas. It will be long, you see; and as for the notes by Hobhouse, I suspect they will be of the heroic size. You must keep H— in good humour, for he is devilish touchy yet about your Review and all which it inherits, including the editor, the Admiralty, and its bookseller. I used to think that I was a good deal of an author in amour propre and noli me tangere; but these prose fellows are worst, after all, about their little comforts."

Mr. Hobhouse was very desirous of drawing Byron from Italy, and forcing him back to England; and

deeply," says Moore, "is it for many reasons to be regretted that this friendly purpose did not succeed." During his absence, however, his friend was of essential service to him in the management of his affairs; and, in fact, in writing to Mr. Murray, he desires that negotiations in matters of business may pass through the medium of Mr. Hobhouse, " as alter ego,' and

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tantamount to myself, during my absence-or presence. Nor was Mr. Hobhouse wanting in records of his estimation of Byron; for, "in describing a short tour to Negroponte, in which his noble friend was unable to accompany him, he regrets the absence of a companion, 'who, to quickness of observation and ingenuity of remark, united that gay good humour which keeps alive the attention under the pressure of fatigue, and softens the aspect of every difficulty and danger.'"

But the highest testimony to their friendship is found in the dedication of the fourth canto of "Childe Harold," just before they parted for the last time in Italy, of which the following portion may most pardonably be inserted here.

"MY DEAR HOBHOUSE,

"After an interval of eight years between the composition of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold, the conclusion of the poem is about to be submitted to the public. In parting with so old a friend, it is not extraordinary that I should recur to one still older and better, to one who has beheld the birth and death of the other, and to whom I am far more indebted for the social advantages of an enlightened friendship, than- -though not ungrateful — I can, or could be, to Childe Harold, for any public favour reflected through the poem on the poet,- to one whom

SIR JOHN CAM HOBHOUSE.

I have known long, and accompanied far, whom I have found wakeful over my sickness, and kind in my sorrow; glad in my prosperity, and firm in my adversity; true in counsel, and trusty in peril,—to a friend often tried, and never found wanting; -to yourself.

"In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth; and in dedicating to you in its complete, or at least concluded state, a poetical work which is the longest, the most thoughtful and comprehensive of my compositions, I wish to do honour to myself by the record of many years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, of steadiness, and of honour. It is not for minds like ours to give or to receive flattery; yet the praises of sincerity have ever been permitted to the voice of friendship; and it is not for you, nor even for others, but to relieve a heart which has not elsewhere, or lately, been so much accustomed to the encounter of good-will as to withstand the shock firmly, that I thus attempt to commemorate your good qualities, or rather the advantages which I have derived from their exertion. Even the recurrence of the date of this letter, the anniversary of the most unfortunate day of my past existence, but which cannot poison my future while I retain the resource of your friendship, and of my own faculties, will henceforth have a more agreeable recollection for both, inasmuch as it will remind us of this my attempt to thank you for an indefatigable regard, such as few men have

experienced, and no one could experience, without thinking better of his species and of himself.

"Wishing you, my dear Hobhouse, a safe and agreeable return to that country whose real welfare can be dearer to none than to yourself, I dedicate to you this poem in its completed state; and repeat once more how truly I am ever,

"Your obliged

"And affectionate friend,

"BYRON."