was also written at Rome; for Byron, dissatisfied with the one written at Venice, prohibited the publication until he should find his mind in a mood to render justice to the subject. Often have I stood on the spot where Byron reclined when drinking in inspiration at the Coliseum, and mentally repeated the lines "Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine And temple more divinely desolate, Among thy mightier offerings here are mine, Hear me not: but if calmly I have borne Good, and reserved my pride against the hate At Rome Byron was brought into contact with several of his compatriots, and the conduct of many of them towards him-characterized, as it too often is, by an ill-bred and unrepressed exhibition of curiosity, which seeks its own gratification, heedless of the annoyance inflicted on the object that excites it-stung him to the soul. He had so often experienced the rudeness of being followed and looked at, as if he were some curious animal, that he confounded the gaze of admiration for the poet, which was not unfrequently bestowed on him, with the stare of malevolence meant for the man, which he had sometimes detected; till, disgusted and irritated, he shrank from social intercourse with the English, and retired to the solitude that he could people with the bright • creations of his imagination-"the beings not of clay," in apostrophizing which he expended those fine sympathies which were repelled by his fellow-men. Well can I picture him to myself rushing irate from a circle, where the impertinence of some individual, assuming the garb of prudery, had insulted him by a marked avoidance, or a supercilious recognition; impertinences, which though contemptible, were sure to produce pain and irritation to his too susceptible feelings. Can it then be wondered at, that, under such inflictions, the finest aspirations of his genius were mingled with bitterness? or that he turned with dislike from the generality of his coun trymen? A Persian proverb says, that "the arrows of contempt will pierce even the shell of the tortoise;" how then must they have lacerated the thin epidermis of that most sensitive of all human beings, a poet? who, in the agony of the wounds, forgot the unwor thiness of the inflictors. 259 "APROPOS OF BORES." RELATED BY THE LATE JOSEPH JEKYLL, ESQ. TO THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. APROPOS of bores! how frequently is the pleasure of society injured, if not destroyed, by the bores who infest it! and how seldom can we recall a single day, the enjoyment of which has not been deteriorated by their intervention! One of the annoying peculiarities of bores is, to select the moment for relating some stupid anecdote, or for asking some silly question, when a witty, instructive, or interesting conversation is going on, to which one is desirous of listening. A particular instance of this vexatious propensity once annoyed me excessively; it occurred at a dinner given by my late worthy friend, Sir William Garrow. 66 Pray tell us," said he to a man who sat near him, "that adventure of yours in the winevaults of Lincoln's Inn, of which I heard a garbled account the other day." I, who always like an adventure, pricked up my ears at the sound; and the individual thus questioned commenced the following story : "A friend of mine went to Madeira in an official situation some years ago. He speculated largely in wine, and sent home several pipes, to be kept until his return. He wrote to request me to find them a safe cellarage; and I, in consequence, applied to a friend, a barrister, to procure me permission to lodge the wine in the vast cellars of Lincoln's Inn Square. I was furnished with a key, that I might have ingress and egress to this sombre spot when I liked; and having, one day, a vacant hour in my chambers, it suddenly entered my head that I |