representations that even friendship could
make would have the power--or _ought_ to have--of checking him. As the
motives, however, by which I was actuated in my remonstrances to him may
be left to speak for themselves, I shall, without dwelling any further
upon the subject, content myself with laying before the reader a few
such extracts from my own letters at this period[76] as may serve to
explain some allusions in those just given.

In writing to me under the date January 24th, it will be recollected
that he says--"be assured that there is no such coalition as you
apprehend." The following extracts from my previous communication to him
will explain what this means:--"I heard some days ago that Leigh Hunt
was on his way to you with all his family; and the idea seems to be,
that you and Shelley and he are to conspire together in the Examiner. I
cannot believe this,--and deprecate such a plan with all my might. Alone
you may do any thing; but partnerships in fame, like those in trade,
make the strongest party answerable for the deficiencies or
delinquencies of the rest, and I tremble even for you with such a
bankrupt >i>Co._--* * *. They are both clever fellows, and Shelley I
look upon as a man of real genius; but I must again say, that you could
not give your enemies (the * * *'s, 'et hoc genus omne') a greater
triumph than by forming such an unequal and unholy alliance. You are,
single-handed, a match for the world,--which is saying a good deal, the
world being, like Briareus, a very many-handed gentleman,--but, to be
so, you must stand alone. Recollect that the scurvy buildings about St.
Peter's almost seem to overtop itself."

[Footnote 76: It should have been mentioned before, that to the courtesy
of Lord Byron's executor, Mr. Hobhouse, who had the kindness to restore
to me such letters of mine as came into his hands, I am indebted for the
power of producing these and other extracts.]

The notices of Cain, in my letters to him, were, according to their
respective dates, as follow:--

"September 30. 1821.

"Since writing the above, I have read Foscari and Cain. The former does
not please me so highly as Sardanapalus. It has the fault of all those
violent Venetian stories, being unnatural and improbable, and therefore,
in spite of all your fine management of them, appealing but remotely to
one's sympathies. But Cain is wonderful--terrible--never to be
forgotten. If I am not mistaken, it will sink deep into th