or doing something better. I presume it is almost over. If
parliament meets in October, I shall be in town to attend. I am
also invited to Cambridge for the beginning of that month, but am
first to jaunt to Rochdale. Now Matthews is gone, and Hobhouse in
Ireland, I have hardly one left there to bid me welcome, except my
inviter. At three-and-twenty I am left alone, and what more can we
be at seventy? It is true I am young enough to begin again, but
with whom can I retrace the laughing part of life? It is odd how
few of my friends have died a quiet death,--I mean, in their beds.
But a quiet life is of more consequence. Yet one loves squabbling
and jostling better than yawning. This _last word_ admonishes me to
relieve you from yours very truly," &c.

* * * * *

LETTER 64. TO MR. DALLAS.

"Newstead Abbey, August 27. 1811.

"I was so sincere in my note on the late Charles Matthews, and do
feel myself so totally unable to do justice to his talents, that
the passage must stand for the very reason you bring against it. To
him all the men I ever knew were pigmies. He was an intellectual
giant. It is true I loved W. better; he was the earliest and the
dearest, and one of the few one could never repent of having loved:
but in ability--ah! you did not know Matthews!

"'Childe Harold' may wait and welcome--books are never the worse
for delay in the publication. So you have got our heir, George
Anson Byron, and his sister, with you.