Southey would have attacked me too there, if he durst, further than by hints about Hunt’s friends in general, and some outcry about an “Epicurean System” carried on by men of the most opposite habits and tastes and opinions in life and poetry (I believe) that ever had their names in the same volume—­Moore, Byron, Shelley, Hazlitt, Haydon, Leigh Hunt, Lamb.  What resemblance do ye find among all or any of these men?  And how could any sort of system or plan be carried on or attempted amongst them?  However, let Mr. Southey look to himself; since the wine is tapped, he shall drink it.

I got some books a few weeks ago—­many thanks.  Amongst them is Israeli’s new edition; it was not fair in you to show him my copy of his former one, with all the marginal notes and nonsense made in Greece when I was not two-and-twenty, and which certainly were not meant for his perusal, nor for that of his readers.

I have a great respect for Israeli and his talents, and have read his works over and over and over repeatedly, and been amused by them greatly, and instructed often.  Besides, I hate giving pain, unless provoked; and he is an author, and must feel like his brethren; and although his Liberality repaid my marginal flippancies with a compliment—­the highest compliment—­that don’t reconcile me to myself—­nor to you.  It was a breach of confidence to do this without my leave; I don’t know a living man’s book I take up so often or lay down more reluctantly than Israeli’s, and I never will forgive you—­that is, for many weeks.  If he had got out of humour I should have been less sorry; but even then I should have been sorry; but really he has heaped his “coals of fire” so handsomely upon my head that they burn unquenchably.

You ask me of the two reviews [Footnote:  Of “Childe Harold” in the Quarterly and Blackwood.]—­I will tell you.  Scott’s is the review of one poet on another—­his friend; Wilson’s, the review of a poet too, on another—­his Idol; for he likes me better than he chooses to avow to the public with all his eulogy.  I speak judging only from the article, for I don’t know him personally.

Here is a long letter—­can you read it?

Yours ever,

B.

In the course of September 1818 Lord Byron communicated to Mr. Moore that he had finished the first canto of a poem in the style and manner of “Beppo.”  “It is called,” he said, “‘Don Juan,’ and is meant to be a little quietly facetious upon everything; but,” he added, “I doubt whether it is not—­at least so far as it has yet gone—­too free for these very modest days.”  In January 1819 Lord Byron requested Mr. Murray to print for private distribution fifty copies of “Don Juan.”  Mr. Murray urged him to occupy himself with some great work worthy of his reputation.  “This you have promised to Gifford long ago, and to Hobhouse and Kinnaird since.”  Lord Byron, however, continued to write out his “Don Juan,” and sent the second canto in April 1819, together with the “Letter of Julia,” to be inserted in the first canto.