the whole, to have felt and seen
That which humanity may bear, or bear not:
Twill teach discernment to the sensitive,
And not to pour their ocean in a sieve."[155]

Friendship was so necessary to him that he wrote to Moore, on the eve of
his marriage, 15th of October, 1814:

"An' there were any thing in marriage that would make a difference
between my friends and me, particularly in your case, I would none
on't."

People should read all he said of Lord Clare and Moore, and see with
what almost jealous susceptibility he guarded the title of friend,[156]
before they can understand the value he attached to true friendship. But
among many of the _privileges_ he conceded to friendship, _duties_ also
held their place.

And if we pass from friendship to love, could he really bestow such
respect on the loves of a Lady Adeline, or of those who, he said,
"embrace you to-day, thinking of the novel they will write to-morrow."
His ideal of true love has been noticed; and he became impatient when he
saw it confounded with any thing else. At twenty-two years of age he
wrote to his young friend, the Rev. Mr. Harness:--

"I told you the fate of B---- and H---- in my last. So much for these
sentimentalists, who console themselves in their stews for the loss--the
never-to-be-recovered loss--the despair of the refined attachment of a
couple of drabs! You censure my life, Harness: when I compare myself
with these men, my elders and my betters, I really begin to conceive
myself a monument of prudence--a walking statue--without feeling or
failing; and yet the world in general hath given me a proud pre-eminence
over them in profligacy. Yet I like the men, and, God knows, ought not
to condemn their aberrations. But I own I feel provoked when they
dignify all this by the name of love--romantic attachments for things
marketable for a dollar!"

Yes, Lord Byron never did respect the love that can be bartered for
dollars. And afterward, when irritation had given way to a milder and
more tolerant philosophy, he took the liberty of laughing at it, both in
prose and verse. It may however, be urged against him, that he sometimes
turned into ridicule even his deepest sentiments; and Moore remarks this
as a defeat, apropos of the jesting tone he assumed once at Bologna,
when writing to Hoppner. But Moore forgets to say, that while his heart
called him to Ravenna, he was speaking against the counsels given by
Hoppner, who, in order to deter