alumnies which were set
forth against him in England, but actually followed him to Switzerland,
there to invent new ones, in the hope of crushing his reputation and
ruining the fame of the poet by the depreciation of the man.

Lord Byron for some time was ignorant of the Laureate's baseness, for
oftentimes friends deem it prudent to hide the truth which it would
perhaps be better to make known. But when he came to know of them, his
whole soul revolted, as naturally must be the case with a man of honor,
and in "Don Juan" he came down upon Southey with a double-edged sword,
throwing ridicule upon the author's writings, and odium upon his conduct
as a calumniator.

This revenge was well deserved. It was not only natural but just, and
even necessary, for it was requisite to show up the man, to judge of the
value to be attached to his calumnies; and later, when he called him
out, he did what honor required of him.

We have seen elsewhere how far the Laureate's conduct justified Byron's
retaliation. It is enough, therefore, that I should have shown here that
Byron's anger was rather the result of Southey's envy than his own, and
that his sarcasms were due entirely to the disgust which he felt for
such dishonorable proceedings.

From that time his language, when speaking of Wordsworth and Coleridge,
always reflected the same disgust. Both had made themselves the echoes
of Southey, and both had been inconstant from interested motives, and
had solicited favors from the party in power, which they had abused in
their writings. "They have each a price," said Byron at Pisa.

On one occasion, as Shelley and Medwin were laughing at some of
Wordsworth's last poems, which disgusted them, not only from the
subservient spirit to Toryism which pervaded them, but also excited
their laughter from their absurdity, Byron, in whose house they were,
said to them, "It is satisfactory to see that a man who becomes
mercenary, and traffics upon the independence of his character, loses at
the same time his talent as a poet."

Byron had such a notion of political consistency, that he ceased having
any regard for those who failed in this respect.

"I was at dinner," says Stendhall, "at the Marquis of Breno's at Milan,
in 1816, with Byron and the celebrated poet Monti, the author of
'Basvilliana.' The conversation fell upon poetry, and the question was
asked which were the twelve most beautiful lines written in a century,
either in English, in I