aders of the translations by Sir Theodore Martin or Robinson
Ellis gain anything by turning to Burton.

On the other hand, we can well believe that his work, considered as
a commentary on Catullus--for nearly all his loose notes have
perished--would have been as valuable to us as, viewed in the same
light, is his edition of Camoens. He had explored all the Catullus
country. Verona, the poet's birthplace, "Sweet Sirmio," his home on
the long narrow peninsula that cleaves Garda's "limpid lake," Brescia,
"below the Cycnaean peak," [666] the "dimpling waters" of heavenly Como,
and the estate of Caecilius; [667] all were familiar to him. He knew
every spot visited by the poet in his famous voyage in the open pinnance
[668] from Bithynia "through the angry Euxine," among the Cyclades, by
"purple Zante," up the Adriatic, and thence by river and canal to 'Home,
sweet home.' He was deep in every department of Catullian lore. He had
taken enormous pains; he had given his nights and days to the work. The
notes at the end of the printed volume are a mere drop compared with the
ocean he left. However, the manuscript with its pencilled cobwebs, the
voluminous "loose notes"--all--good and bad--went up the chimney.

Personally we have never expended a sigh over the loss of The Scented
Garden, and we should not have minded one straw if Lady Burton had burnt
also her typewritten travesty of the Catullus; but her destruction of
Sir Richard's private journals and diaries was a deed that one finds it
very hard to forgive. Just as Sir Richard's conversation was better
than his books, so, we are told, his diaries were better than his
conversation. Says Mr. W. H. Wilkins, [669] referring to Sir Richard,
"He kept his diaries and journals, not as many keep them, with all the
ugly things left out, but faithfully and fully," and again, "the private
journals and diaries which were full of the secret thoughts and apologia
of this rare genius have been committed to the flames." Dr. Baker, who
was favoured with the sight of portions of these diaries, tells me that
Sir Richard used to put in them not only an epitome of every important
letter written or received by him, and of every conversation he had with
persons of consequence; but also any remarks that struck him, uttered by
no matter whom. [670]

176. Lisa Departs, November 1890.

Like Chico, like Khamoor, Lisa, the Baroness lady-companion, had through
injudicious treatment grown well-ni