sketch is supercilious and defiant. A better, and obviously truer sketch is that made by Cattermole, which also was in this exhibition. Strength in despair and a dauntless spirit that shines through the ravages of irremediable suffering are the qualities of this portrait; and they make it marvellously effective. Thorwaldsen's fine bust of Byron, made for Hobhouse, and also the celebrated Phillips portrait--that Scott said was the best likeness of Byron ever painted--occupied places in this group. The copy of the New Testament that Lady Byron gave to her husband, and that he, in turn, presented to Lady Caroline Lamb, was there, and is a pocket volume, bound in black leather, with the inscription, "From a sincere and anxious friend," written in a stiff, formal hand, across the fly-leaf. A gold ring that the poet constantly wore, and the collar of his dog Boatswain--a discoloured band of brass, with sharply jagged edges--should also be named as among the most interesting of the relics. But the most remarkable objects of all were the manuscripts. These comprise the original draft of the third canto of "Childe Harold," written on odd bits of paper, during Byron's journey from London to Venice, in 1816; the first draft of the fourth canto, together with a clean copy of it; the notes to "Marino Faliero"; the concluding stage directions--much scrawled and blotted--in "Heaven and Earth"; a document concerning the poet's matrimonial trouble; and about fifteen of his letters. The passages seen are those beginning "Since my young days of passion, joy, or pain"; "To bear unhurt what time cannot abate"; and in canto fourth the stanzas 118 to 129 inclusive. The writing is free and strong, and it still remains legible although the paper is yellow with age. Altogether those relics were touchingly significant of the strange, dark, sad career of a wonderful man. Yet, as already said, they attracted but little notice. The memory of Byron seems darkened, as with the taint of lunacy. "He did strange things," one Englishman said to me; "and there was something queer about him." The London house in which he was born, in Holies Street, Cavendish Square, is marked with a tablet,--according to a custom instituted by a society of arts. (It was torn down in 1890 and its site is now occupied by a shop, bearing the name of John Lewis & Co.) Two houses in which he lived, No. 8 St. James Street, near the old palace, and No. 139 Piccadilly, are not marked. The house of his birth was occupied in 1877 by a descendant of Elizabeth Fry, the philanthropist.