now lay before the reader the Journal by which these remarks were more immediately suggested, and from which I fear they will be thought to have too long detained him.

EXTRACTS FROM A DIARY OF LORD BYRON, 1821.

"A sudden thought strikes me.' Let me begin a Journal once more. The last I kept was in Switzerland, in record of a tour made in the Bernese Alps, which I made to send to my sister in 1816, and I suppose that she has it still, for she wrote to me that she was pleased with it. Another, and longer, I kept in 1813-1814, which I gave to Thomas Moore in the same year.

<< This morning I gat me up late, as usual-weather bad-bad as England-worse. The snow of last week melting to the sirocco of to-day, so that there were two d-d things at once. Could not even get to ride on horseback in the forest. Staid at home all the morninglooked at the fire-wondered when the post would come. Post came at the Ave Maria, instead of halfpast one o'clock, as it ought. Galignani's Messengers, six in number-a letter from Faenza, but none from England. Very sulky in consequence (for there ought to have been letters), and ate in consequence a copious dinner; for when I am vexed, it makes me swallow quicker-but drank very little.

« I was out of spirits—read the papers-thought what fame was, on reading, in a case of murder, that Mr Wych, grocer, at Tunbridge, sold some bacon, flour, cheese, and, it is believed, some plums, to some gipsy woman accused. He had on his counter (I quote

faithfully) a book, the Life of Pamela, which he was tearing for waste paper, etc. etc. In the cheese was found, etc., and a leaf of Pamela wrapt round the bacon.' What would Richardson, the vainest and luckiest of living authors (i. e. while alive)-he who, with Aaron Hill, used to prophesy and chuckle over the presumed fall of Fielding (the prose Homer of human nature) and of Pope (the most beautiful of poets) — what would he have said could he have traced his pages from their places on the French prince's toilets (see Boswell's Johnson) to the grocer's counter and the gipsy-murderess's bacon!!!

« What would he have said? what can any body say, save what Solomon said long before us? After all, it is but passing from one counter to another, from the bookseller's to the other tradesman's--grocer or pastry-cook. For my part, I have met with most poetry upon trunks; so that I am apt to consider the trunk-maker as the sexton of authorship.

« Wrote five letters in about half an hour, short and savage, to all my rascally correspondents. Carriage came. Heard the news of three murders at Faenza and Forli-a carabinier, a smuggler, and an attorney-all last night. The two first in a quarrel, the latter by premeditation.

« Three weeks ago—almost a month-the 7th it was -I picked up the Commandant, mortally wounded, out of the street; he died in my house; assassins unknown, but presumed political. His brethren wrote from Rome last night to thank me for having assisted him in his last moments. Poor fellow! it was a pity; he was a good soldier, but imprudent. It was eight in the evening when they killed him. We heard the shot; my servants and I ran out, and found him ex

piring, with five wounds, two whereof mortal-by slugs they seemed. I examined him, but did not go to the dissection next morning.

Carriage at 8 or so-went to visit La Contessa G.— found her playing on the piano-forte-talked till ten, when the Count, her father, and the no less Count, her brother, came in from the theatre. Play, they said, Alfieri's Filippo-well received.

« Two days ago the King of Naples passed through Bologna on his way to congress. My servant Luigi brought the news. I had sent him to Bologna for a lamp. How will it end? Time will show.

« Came home at eleven, or rather before. If the road and weather are conformable, mean to ride tomorrow. High time-almost a week at this work-snow, sirocco, one day-frost and snow the other -sad climate for Italy. But the two seasons, last and present, are extraordinary. Read a Life of Leonardo da Vinci by Rossi-ruminated-wrote this much, and will to bed.

go

« January 5th, 1821.

« Rose late-dull and drooping-the weather dripping and dense. Snow on the ground, and sirocco above in the sky, like yesterday. Roads up to the horse's belly, so that riding (at least for pleasure) is not very feasible. Added a postscript to my letter to Murray. Read the conclusion, for the fiftieth time (I have read all W. Scott's novels at least fifty times) of the third series of 'Tales of my Landlord,'-grand work-Scotch Fielding, as well as great English poet-wonderful man! I long to get drunk with him.

« Dined versus six o' the clock. Forgot that there was a plum-pudding (I have added, lately, eating to my

'family of vices'), and had dined before I knew it. Drank half a bottle of some sort of spirits-probably spirits of wine; for, what they call brandy, rum, etc. etc. here is nothing but spirits of wine, coloured accordingly. Did not eat two apples, which were placed, by way of dessert. Fed the two cats, the hawk, and the tame (but not tamed) crow. Read Mitford's History of Greece-Xenophon's Retreat of the Ten Thousand. Up to this present moment writing, 6 minutes before eight o' the clock-French hours, not Italian.

«Hear the carriage-order pistols and great coat, as usual-necessary articles. Weather cold-carriage open, and inhabitants somewhat savage-rather treacherous and highly inflamed by politics. Fine fellows, though -good materials for a nation. Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.

« Clock strikes--going out to make love. Somewhat perilous, but not disagreeable. Memorandum—a new screen put up to-day. It is rather antique, but will do with a little repair.

« Thaw continues-hopeful that riding may be practicable to-morrow. Sent the papers to Alli-grand

events coming.

« II o' the clock and nine minutes. Visited La Contessa G. Nata G. G. Found her beginning my letter of answer to the thanks of Alessio del Pinto of Rome for assisting his brother the late Commandant in his last moments, as I had begged her to pen my reply for the purer Italian, I being an ultra-montane, little skilled in the set phrase of Tuscany. Cut short the letterfinish it another day. Talked of Italy, patriotism, Alfieri, Madame Albany, and other branches of learning. Also Sallust's Conspiracy of Catiline, and the War of

Jugurtha. At 9 came in her brother, Il Conte Pietroat 10, her father, Conte Ruggiero.

« Talked of various modes of warfare-of the Hungarian and Highland modes of broad-sword exercise, in both whereof I was once a moderate master of fence.' Settled that the R. will break out on the 7th or 8th of March, in which appointment I should trust, had it not been settled that it was to have broken out in October, 1820. But those Bolognese shirked the Romagnuoles.

<<'It is all one to Ranger.' One must not be particular, but take rebellion when it lies in the way. Came home-read the Ten Thousand' again, and will go to bed.

<< Mem.-Ordered Fletcher (at four o'clock this afternoon) to copy out 7 or 8 apophthegms of Bacon, in which I have detected such blunders as a schoolboy might detect, rather than commit. Such are the sages! What must they be, when such as I can stumble on their mistakes or mistatements? I will go to bed, for I find that I grow cynical.

«

January 6th, 1821. « Mist-thaw-slop-rain. No stirring out on horseback. Read Spence's Anecdotes. Pope a fine fellow -Always thought him so. Corrected blunders in nine apophthegms of Bacon-all historical-and read Mitford's Greece. Wrote an epigram. Turned to a passage in Guinguené-ditto, in Lord Holland's Lope de Vega. Wrote a note on Don Juan.

«At eight went out to visit. Heard a little musiclike music. Talked with Count Pietro G. of the Italian comedian Vestris, who is now at Rome-have seen him often act in Venice—a good actor-very. Somewhat