In 1810, news reached Byron of the death of John Edleston, whom he had loved when he was at Cambridge. He wrote to Hobhouse that the news had left him ‘rather low’, and ‘more affected than I should care to own elsewhere; Death has been lately so occupied with every thing that was mine, that the dissolution of the most remote connection is like taking a crown from a Miser’s last Guinea’. But then he changes the subject, though in a way that may nevertheless be responding to that feeling of loss and separation.