Rome in 1818, now in Sir Percy Shelley's possession'--to know, from Mr. Buxton Forman's authoritative assurance, that the frontispiece to the first volume of his edition of _The Poetical Works_ is an engraving from the same 'best portrait extant,' and not an engraving of Clint's posthumous 'composition'--to know that engravings from this 'best portrait extant' have, like the engravings at first hand of the 'composition,' been repeatedly re-engraved (with or without variations to suit the requirements of editorial taste),--and, _lastly_, to know that all the engravings and re-engravings of the two delusive originals are flagrant and altogether-to-be-repudiated misrepresentations of the poet's actual appearance. After what has been said of Miss Curran's unfinished oil-sketch, and Clint's posthumous 'composition,' which was mainly made up from the lady's derelict absurdity, it is needless to say that all the engravings and re-engravings of the abandoned fib and the elaborate falsehood bear a close resemblance to one another. Resembling one another in the contour of the features, the arrangement of the hair (even to the tips of the curls), the items of costume (even to the shape of the rumpled Byronic collars), these engravings and re-engravings might be mistaken for reproductions of the same original picture--allowance being made for the taste and whims of engravers, the fancies and requirements of editors. The only difference between the avowed engravings from Miss Curran's daub and the engravings of Mr. Clint's composition is that the former are something more unnatural and unsatisfactory than the latter. The poet of the former lot of engravings is a somnambulant girl--a sleepwalker from dyspepsia, who, on leaving her bed somehow or other, contrived to put on her brother's walking-coat instead of her own bodice. The poet of the latter set of engravings is a very pretty girl, exhibiting no sign of disease, apart from the indications of a desire to look something wiser and prettier than she really is. Like the somnambulant girl of the more disagreeable picture, the young lady of these less disagreeable engravings has put on her brother's coat, wears Byronic shirt-collars, has a quill pen in her lily-white hand, and is so posed that her right fore-arm is resting on an open manuscript. Of the dozen or more engravings of this young lady now lying open before the present writer's desk, the one to which he would direct his readers' attention--in consideration of its being the most agreeable, typical, and artistic of them all--is the engraving by that fine engraver, Francis Holl, which does duty as frontispiece to the first volume of Hogg's (unfinished) _Life_.