determined smoker.

I will only add, that he continues to employ himself in literary
composition. Among other pieces not published in England, he has written
an ode on the death of Lord Byron, a copy of which he presented me, but
which I unfortunately lent--and lost. A small edition was printed at
Paris for private circulation. He has also written an unpublished poem
in the form of a letter from Lord Castlereagh in the shades, to Mr.
Canning on earth, the caustic severity of which, in the opinion of those
who have heard it read, is equal to that of any satire in the English
language. I remember only the two first lines--

"Dear George, from these _Shades_, where no wine's to be had.
But where rivers of flame run like rivers run mad."

And the following, in allusion to the instrument with which Lord C.
severed the carotid artery, and which was the means of producing such a
change in the destiny of the present prime minister, who was then on the
eve of going out to India as governor-general,--

"Have you pensioned the Jew boy that sold me the knife?"

It is to be lamented that such a man should be an exile from his native
country.--But I draw a veil over the rest, and sincerely hope that his
absence from England will not be perpetual.

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