There remains little more to add.  It has been remarked by Lord Orford[1], as “strange, that the writing a man’s life should in general make the biographer become enamoured of his subject, whereas one should think that the nicer disquisition one makes into the life of any man, the less reason one should find to love or admire him.”  On the contrary, may we not rather say that, as knowledge is ever the parent of tolerance, the more insight we gain into the springs and motives of a man’s actions, the peculiar circumstances in which he was placed, and the influences and temptations under which he acted, the more allowance we may be inclined to make for his errors, and the more approbation his virtues may extort from us?

[Footnote 1:  In speaking of Lord Herbert of Cherbury’s Life of Henry VIII.]

The arduous task of being the biographer of Byron is one, at least, on which I have not obtruded myself:  the wish of my friend that I should undertake that office having been more than once expressed, at a time when none but a boding imagination like his could have foreseen much chance of the sad honour devolving to me.  If in some instances I have consulted rather the spirit than the exact letter of his injunctions, it was with the view solely of doing him more justice than he would have done himself, there being no hands in which his character could have been less safe than his own, nor any greater wrong offered to his memory than the substitution of what he affected to be for what he was.  Of any partiality, however, beyond what our mutual friendship accounts for and justifies, I am by no means conscious; nor would it be in the power, indeed, of even the most partial friend to allege any thing more convincingly favourable of his character than is contained in the few simple facts with which I shall here conclude,—­that, through life, with all his faults, he never lost a friend;—­that those about him in his youth, whether as companions, teachers, or servants, remained attached to him to the last;—­that the woman, to whom he gave the love of his maturer years, idolises his name; and that, with a single unhappy exception, scarce an instance is to be found of any one, once brought, however briefly, into relations of amity with him, that did not feel towards him a kind regard in life, and retain a fondness for his memory.

I have now done with the subject, nor shall be easily tempted to recur to it.  Any mistakes or misstatements I may be proved to have made shall be corrected;—­any new facts which it is in the power of others to produce will speak for themselves.  To mere opinions I am not called upon to pay attention—­and still less to insinuations or mysteries.  I have here told what I myself know and think concerning my friend; and now leave his character, moral as well as literary, to the judgment of the world.

APPENDIX.

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