nor contradiction, but merely a discontinuance of a most
ill-grounded charge. I never was consistent in any thing but my
politics; and as my redemption depends on that solitary virtue, it
is murder to carry away my last anchor."

* * * * *

Of these hasty and characteristic missives with which he despatched off
his "still-breeding thoughts," there yet remain a few more that might be
presented to the reader; but enough has here been given to show the
fastidiousness of his self-criticism, as well as the restless and
unsatisfied ardour with which he pressed on in pursuit of
perfection,--still seeing, according to the usual doom of genius, much
farther than he could reach.

An appeal was, about this time, made to his generosity, which the
reputation of the person from whom it proceeded would, in the minds of
most people, have justified him in treating with disregard, but which a
more enlarged feeling of humanity led him to view in a very different
light; for, when expostulated with by Mr. Murray on his generous
intentions towards one "whom nobody else would give a single farthing
to," he answered, "it is for that very reason _I_ give it, because
nobody else will." The person in question was Mr. Thomas Ashe, author of
a certain notorious publication called "The Book," which, from the
delicate mysteries discussed in its pages, attracted far more notice
than its talent, or even mischief, deserved. In a fit, it is to be
hoped, of sincere penitence, this man wrote to Lord Byron, alleging
poverty as his excuse for the vile uses to which he had hitherto
prostituted his pen, and soliciting his Lordship's aid towards enabling
him to exist, in future, more reputably. To this application the