dmired and sincerely pitied, and whom he felt that he
had no right to despise. Body and soul, Byron was of different stuff
from Sheridan, and if he "had lived to his age," he would have passed
over "the red-hot ploughshares" of life and conduct, not unscathed, but
stoutly and unconsumed. So much easier is it to live down character than
to live through temperament.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan (born October 30, 1751) died July 7, 1816.
_The Monody_ was written at the Campagne Diodati, on July 17, at the
request of Douglas Kinnaird. "I did as well as I could," says Byron;
"but where I have not my choice I pretend to answer for nothing" (Letter
to Murray, September 29, 1816, _Letters_, 1899, iii. 366). He told Lady
Blessington, however, that his "feelings were never more excited than
while writing it, and that every word came direct from the heart"
(_Conversations, etc._, p. 241).

The MS., in the handwriting of Claire, is headed, "Written at the
request of D. Kinnaird, Esq., Monody on R. B. Sheridan. Intended to be
spoken at Dy. L^e.^ T. Diodati, Lake of Geneva, July 18^th^, 1816.
Byron."

The first edition was entitled _Monody on the Death of the Right
Honourable R.B. Sheridan_. Written at the request of a Friend. To be
spoken at Drury Lane Theatre, London. Printed for John Murray, Albemarle
Street, 1816.

It was spoken by Mrs. Davison at Drury Lane Theatre, September 7, and
published September 9, 1816.

When the _Monody_ arrived at Diodati Byron fell foul of the title-page:
"'The request of a Friend:'--

'Obliged by Hunger and request of friends.'

"I will request you to expunge that same, unless you please to add, 'by
a person of quality, or of wit and honour about town.' Merely say,
'written to be spoken at D[rury] L[ane]'" (Letter to Murray, September
30, 1816, _Letters,_ 1899, iii. 367). The first edition had been issued,
and no alteration could be made, but the title-page of a "New Edition,"
1817, reads, "_Monody, etc._ Spoken at Drury Lane Theatre. By Lord
Byron."]

MONODY ON THE DEATH

OF THE

RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAN,

SPOKEN AT DRURY-LANE THEATRE, LONDON.

When the last sunshine of expiring Day
In Summer's twilight weeps itself away,
Who hath not felt the softness of the hour
Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower?
With a pure feeling which absorbs and a