so many rogues,
for whom relatives, friends, country, are but empty names; who despises
fame, and aims at no distinction except that conferred by his strange
manners, savage anger, and inhumanity.

When those who have known Lord Byron, and studied his life, compare him
to this type, it may well be asked whether such persons be in their
right understanding. The famous tower of Babel, and all the confusion
ensuing, rise up to view.

The excess of absurdity may give way, however, to some little moderation
in judgment. It will be said, for instance, that there are different
kinds of misanthropy. Lucian's "Timon" does not at all resemble
Moliere's "Alceste:" Lord Byron's misanthropy was not like either of
theirs; his was only of the kind that mars sociability, good temper, and
other amiable qualities. In short, we shall be given to understand that
Lord Byron is only accused of _having liked solitude too much, of having
shunned his fellow-creatures too much, and thought too ill of humanity_.

But these modifications can not satisfy our conscience. Still too many
reasons of astonishment may be offered to allow us to resist the desire
of adding other facts and indisputable proofs to those already adduced
in the chapter where we examined the nature and limits of his melancholy
at all periods of life, and throughout all its phases.[119] This chapter
might even suffice as a response to the above strange accusation.

A better answer still would be found in all the proofs we have given of
his goodness, generosity, and humanity. Nevertheless, we think it right
rather to appeal to the patience of our readers; so that they may
consider with us, more especially, one of the peculiar aspects of Lord
Byron's character; namely, his sociability.

That Lord Byron loved solitude, and that it was a want of his nature who
can doubt? As a child, we know, his delight was to wander alone on the
sea-shore, on the Scottish strand. At school, he was wont to withdraw
from his beloved companions, and the games he liked so well, in order to
pass whole hours seated on the solitary stone in the church-yard at
Harrow, which has been fitly called _Byron's Tomb_. He himself describes
these inclinations of his childhood in the "Lament of Tasso:"--

"Of objects all inanimate I made
Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers,
And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise,
Where I did lay me down within the shade
Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted