In the circles he frequented it was his lot to become intimate with Lord Byron, to whom he had introduced himself by something resembling a challenge; and when, in 1819, he made that journey to the Continent which furnished him with matter for his “Rhymes on the Road,” Moore visited the great, but erring and unhappy, author of “Childe Harold,” then residing near Venice. It was then that the noble and long-descended bard confided to his charge the autobiography, which was ultimately consigned to the flames, after it had entailed on the Irish melodist infinite trouble, anxiety, and annoyance, and that shortly after the time when the conduct of the individual who acted as his deputy at Bermuda had driven him from England, and involved him in serious pecuniary difficulties and embarrassments. On leaving Italy, Moore betook himself to Paris, where he was treated with high honor and distinguished by a public dinner, which, as a mark of esteem and admiration, was particularly grateful to the heart and feelings of the accomplished exile. While there, he wrote the “Loves of the Angels,” containing passages of great beauty, passion, and tenderness, but considered inferior to the former effusions of his versatile muse. This may be accounted for by its publication having been hastened by the announcement of Lord Byron’s “Heaven and Earth,” understood to be founded on the same passage of Scripture――a very sufficient explanation of its holding a secondary place among its author’s productions. His latest work of imagination was the “Epicurean,” an Eastern tale in prose, and in a spirit of pure romance. In 1825, Moore visited Sir Walter Scott at Abbotsford, and was entertained with wonted hospitality by the mighty novelist, who did not fail to conduct his charming and interesting visitor to the Rhymer’s Glen, and all the spots renowned in Border history and tradition, which he was accustomed daily to haunt and draw inspiration from. Yet it may fairly be questioned whether the sunny heart and voluptuous imagination of the sentimental love-singer, which had luxuriated in all the gorgeousness of Oriental scenery, and in the meeting of “bright waters” in sweet and happy valleys, would be very deeply impressed while viewing the purple peaks of Eildon, or crossing the “Leader’s silver tide,” which were the pride and consolation of the “last minstrel’s” checkered existence.