more attached to me than even I am in return. During the whole of my residence at Cambridge we met every day, summer and winter, without passing one tiresome moment, and separated each time with increasing reluctance. I hope you will one day see us together. He is the only being I esteem, though I like many. The Marquis of Tavistock was down the other day; I supped with him at his tutor's-entirely a Whig party. The opposition muster strong here now, and Lord Hartington, the Duke of Leinster, etc. etc. are to join us in October, so every thing will be splendid. The music is all over at present. Met with another 'accidency'-upset a butter-boat in the lap of a lady--look'd very blue-spectators grinned. —'curse 'em!' Apropos, sorry to say, been drunk every day, and not quite sober yet-however, touch no meat, nothing but fish, soup, and vegetables, consequently it does me no harm-sad dogs all the Cantabs. Mem.-we mean to reform next January. This place is a monotony of endless variety—like it— hate Southwell. Has Ridge sold well? or do the ancients demur? What ladies have bought? Saw a girl at St. Mary's the image of Anne thought it was her all in the wrong the lady stared, so did I—I blushed, so did not the lady,sad thing-wish women had more modesty. Talking of women, puts me in mind of my terrier Fannyhow is she? Got a headach, must go to bed, up early in the morning to travel. My protégé breakfasts with me; parting spoils my appetite-excepting from Southwell. Mem.-Ihate Southwell.-Yours, etc. TO MISS PIGOT Gordon's Hotel, July 13, 1807. You write most excellent epistles-a fig for other xix correspondents, with their nonsensical apologies for 'knowing nought about it,'-you send me a delightful budget. I am here in a perpetual vortex of dissipation (very pleasant for all that), and, strange to tell, I get thinner, being now below eleven stone considerably. Stay in town a month, perhaps six weeks, trip into Essex, and then, as a favour, irradiate Southwell for three days with the light of my countenance; but nothing shall ever make me reside there again. I positively return to Cambridge in October; we are to be uncommonly gay, or in truth I should cut the University. An extraordinary cir cumstance occurred to me at Cambridge; a girl so very like made her appearance, that nothing but the most minute inspection could have undeceived I wish I had asked if she had ever been at me. H What the devil would Ridge have? is not fifty in a fortnight, before the advertisements, a sufficient sale? I hear many of the London booksellers have them, and Crosby has sent copies to the principal watering places. Are they liked or not in Southwell? . . . I wish Boatswain had swallowed Damon ! How is Bran? by the immortal gods, Bran ought to be a Count of the Holy Roman Empire. The intelligence of London cannot be interesting to you, who have rusticated all your life—the annals of routs, riots, balls and boxing-matches, cards and crim. cons., parliamentary discussion, political details, masquerades, mechanics, Argyle Street Institution and aquatic races, love and lotteries, Brookes's and Buonaparte, opera singers and oratorios, wine, women, wax-work, and weathercocks, can't accord with your insulated ideas of decorum and other silly expressions not inserted in our vocabulary. Oh! Southwell, Southwell, how I rejoice to have left thee, and how I curse the heavy hours I dragged along, for so many months, among the Mohawks who inhabit your kraals!—However, one thing I do not regret, which is having pared off a sufficient quantity of flesh to enable me to slip into 'an eelskin,' and vie with the slim beaux of modern times; though I am sorry to say, it seems to be the mode amongst gentlemen to grow fat, and I am told I am at least fourteen pound below the fashion. However, I decrease instead of enlarging, which is extraordinary, as violent exercise in London is impracticable; but I attribute the phenomenon to our evening squeezes at public and private parties. I heard from Ridge this morning (the 14th, my letter was begun yesterday): he says the poems go on as well as can be wished; the seventy-five sent to town are circulated, and a demand for fifty more complied with, the day he dated his epistle, though the advertisements are not yet half published. Adieu. P.S.-Lord Carlisle, on receiving my poems, sent, before he opened the book, a tolerably handsome letter: I have not heard from him since. His opinions I neither know nor care about: if he is the least insolent, I shall enrol him with Butler and the other worthies. He is in Yorkshire, poor man! and very ill! He said he had not had time to read the contents, but thought it necessary to acknowledge the receipt of the volume immediately. Perhaps the Earl 'bears no brother near the throne,' —if so, I will make his sceptre totter in his hands.Adieu ! TO MR. CROSBY Stationers' Court, July 21, 1807. Sir, I have sent, according to my promise, some stanzas for Literary Recreations; the insertion I leave to the option of the editors, they have never appeared before. I should wish to know whether they are admitted or not, and when the work will appear, as I am desirous of a copy, etc. etc. BYRON. P.S.-Send your answer when convenient. TO MISS PIGOT August 2, 1807. London begins to disgorge its contents-town is xxi empty-consequently I can scribble at leisure, as occupations are less numerous. In a fortnight I shall depart to fulfil a country engagement; but expect two epistles from you previous to that period. Ridge does not proceed rapidly in Notts-very possible. In town things wear a more promising aspect, and a man whose works are praised by reviewers, admired by duchesses, and sold by every bookseller of the metropolis, does not dedicate much consideration to rustic readers. I have now a review before me, entitled Literary Recreations, where my bardship is applauded far beyond my deserts. I know nothing of the critic, but think him a very discerning gentleman, and myself a devilish clever fellow. His critique pleases me particularly, because it is of great length, and a proper quantum of censure is administered, just to give an agreeable relish to the praise. You know I hate insipid, unqualified, common-place compliment. If you would wish to see it, order the 13th Number of Literary Recreations for the last month. I assure you I have not the most distant idea of the writer of the article-it is printed in a periodical publication-and though I have written a paper (a review of Wordsworth), which appears in the same work, I am ignorant of every other person concerned in it—even the editor, whose name I have not heard. My cousin, Lord Alexander Gordon, who resided in the same hotel, told me his mother, her Grace of Gordon, requested he would introduce my Poetical Lordship to her Highness, as she had bought my volume, admired it exceedingly, in common with the rest of the fashionable world, and wished to claim her relationship with the author. I was unluckily engaged on an excursion for some days afterwards; and, as the Duchess was on the eve of departing for Scotland, I have postponed my introduction till the winter, when I shall favour the lady, whose taste I shall not dispute, with my most sublime and edifying conversation. She is now in the Highlands, and Alexander took his departure, a few days ago, for the same blessed seat of 'dark rolling winds.' Crosby, my London publisher, has disposed of his second importation, and has sent to Ridge for a |