urther bearings will not be difficult. Already, indeed, I may be
thought by some readers to have occupied too large a portion of these
pages, not only in tracing out such "nice dependencies" and
gradations of my friend's character, but still more uselessly, as may
be conceived, in recording all the various habitudes and whims by
which the course of his every-day life was distinguished from that of
other people. That the critics of the day should think it due to
their own importance to object to trifles is naturally to be
expected; but that, in other times, such minute records of a Byron
will be read with interest, even such critics cannot doubt. To know
that Catiline walked with an agitated and uncertain gait is, by no
mean judge of human nature, deemed important as an indication of
character. But far less significant details will satisfy the
idolaters of genius. To be told that Tasso loved malmsey and thought
it favourable to poetic inspiration is a piece of intelligence, even
at the end of three centuries, not unwelcome; while a still more
amusing proof of the disposition of the world to remember little
things of the great is, that the poet Petrarch's excessive fondness
for turnips is one of the few traditions still preserved of him at
Arqua.

The personal appearance of Lord Byron has been so frequently
described, both by pen and pencil, that were it not the bounden duty
of the biographer to attempt some such sketch, the task would seem
superfluous. Of his face, the beauty may be pronounced to have been
of the highest order, as combining at once regularity of features
with the most varied and interesting expression. The same facility,
indeed, of change observable in the movements of his mind was seen
also in the free play of his features, as the passing thoughts within
darkened or shone through them.

His eyes, though of a light grey, were capable of all extremes of
expression, from the most joyous hilarity to the deepest sadness,
from the very sunshine of benevolence to the most concentrated scorn
or rage. Of this latter passion, I had once an opportunity of seeing
what fiery interpreters they could be, on my telling him,
thoughtlessly enough, that a friend of mine had said to me--"Beware
of Lord Byron; he will some day or other do something very
wicked."--"Was it man or woman said so?" he exclaimed, suddenly
turning round upon me with a look of such intense anger as, though it
lasted not an instant, could not eas