t most only calculated to
excite a smile; there is no turpitude in them, and they merit notice
but as indications of the humour of character. It was his Lordship's
foible to overrate his rank, to grudge his deformity beyond reason,
and to exaggerate the condition of his family and circumstances. But
the alloy of such small vanities, his caprice and feline temper, were
as vapour compared with the mass of rich and rare ore which
constituted the orb and nucleus of his brilliancy.

He had not been long in Constantinople, when a change came over his
intentions; the journey to Persia was abandoned, and the dreams of
India were dissolved. The particular causes which produced this
change are not very apparent--but Mr Hobhouse was at the same time
directed to return home, and perhaps that circumstance had some
influence on his decision, which he communicated to his mother,
informing her, that he should probably return to Greece. As in that
letter he alludes to his embarrassment on account of remittances, it
is probable that the neglect of his agent, with respect to them, was
the main cause which induced him to determine on going no farther.

Accordingly, on the 14th of July, he embarked with Mr Hobhouse and
the ambassador on board the Salsette. It was in the course of the
passage to the island of Zea, where he was put on shore, that one of
the most emphatic incidents of his life occurred; an incident which
throws a remarkable gleam into the springs and intricacies of his
character--more, perhaps, than anything which has yet been mentioned.

One day, as he was walking the quarter-deck, he lifted an ataghan (it
might be one of the midshipmen's weapons), and unsheathing it, said,
contemplating the blade, "I should like to know how a person feels
after committing murder." By those who have inquiringly noticed the
extraordinary cast of his metaphysical associations, this dagger-
scene must be regarded as both impressive and solemn; although the
wish to know how a man felt after committing murder does not imply
any desire to perpetrate the crime. The feeling might be appreciated
by experiencing any actual degree of guilt; for it is not the deed--
the sentiment which follows it makes the horror. But it is doing
injustice to suppose the expression of such a wish dictated by
desire. Lord Byron has been heard to express, in the eccentricity of
conversation, wishes for a more intense knowledge of remorse than
murder itself coul