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 the world's heart; and while many will shudder at its blasphemy, all must fall prostrate before its grandeur. Talk of Æschylus and his Prometheus!--here is the true spirit both of the Poet--and the Devil." "February 9. 1822.