'You do not say a word to me of your Poem. I ' wish I could see or hear it. I neither could, nor 'would, do it or its author any harm. I believe I told ( you of Larry and Jacquy. and Jacquy. A friend of mine was 'reading at least a friend of his was reading-said Larry and Jacquy in a Brighton coach. A passenger 'took up the book and queried as to the author. The proprietor said "there were two "-to which the " answer of the unknown was, "Ay, ay-a joint concern, I suppose, summot like Sternhold and Hop

'kins."

'Is not this excellent? I would not have missed the "" vile comparison" to have scaped being one of the "Arcades ambo et cantare pares." Good night. Again yours.'

Here's to her who long

Hath waked the poet's sigh!

The girl who gave to song

'What gold could never buy. My dear Moore,

(

I am going to be married-that is, I am accepted*, ' and one usually hopes the rest will follow. My mother ' of the Gracchi (that are to be) you think too straitlaced for me, although the paragon of only children, ' and invested with "golden opinions of all sorts of

،

men," and full of" most blest conditions" as Desde'mona herself. Miss Milbanke is the lady, and I

* On the day of the arrival of the lady's answer, he was sitting at dinner, when his gardener came in and presented him with his mother's wedding ring, which she had lost many years before, and which the gardener had just found in digging up the mould under her window. Almost at the same moment, the letter from Miss Milbanke arrived, and Lord Byron exclaimed, If it contains a consent, I will be married with this 'very ring. It did contain a very flattering acceptance of his proposal, and a duplicate of the letter had been sent to London, in case this should have missed him.-Memoranda.

have her father's invitation to proceed there in my 'elect capacity,-which, however, I cannot do till I have settled some business in London, and got a blue

coat.

'She is said to be an heiress, but of that I really 'know nothing certainly, and shall not inquire. But 'I do know, that she has talents and excellent quali'ties; and you will not deny her judgment, after 'having refused six suitors and taken me.

6

6

"

Now, if you have anything to say against this, pray do; my mind's made up, positively fixed, deter'mined, and therefore I will listen to reason, because now it can do no harm. Things may occur to break it off, but I will hope not. In the mean time, I tell you (a secret, by the by,-at least, till I know she 'wishes it to the public) that I have proposed and am 'accepted. You need not be in a hurry to wish me joy, for one mayn't be married for months. I am going to town to-morrow; but expect to be here, on my way there, within a fortnight.

"

If this had not happened, I should have gone to 'Italy. In my way down, perhaps, you will meet me 'at Nottingham, and come over with me here. I need 'not say that nothing will give me greater pleasure. 'I must, of course, reform thoroughly; and, seriously, ' if I can contribute to her happiness, I shall secure ( my own. She is so good a person, that-that-in short, I wish I was a better. Ever, &c.'

LETTER 202.

TO THE COUNTESS OF **

**

'Dear Lady

"

Your recollection and invitation do me great 'honour; but I am going to be "married, and can't 'come." My intended is two hundred miles off, and

"

C

'the moment my business here is arranged, I must set ' out in a great hurry to be happy. Miss Milbanke is 'the good-natured person who has undertaken me, and, of course, I am very much in love, and as silly as all single gentlemen must be in that sentimental ' situation. I have been accepted these three weeks; but when the event will take place, I don't exactly know. It depends partly upon lawyers, who are 'never in a hurry. One can be sure of nothing; but, 'at present, there appears no other interruption to 'this intention, which seems as mutual as possible, and now no secret, though I did not tell first,-and ' all our relatives are congratulating away to right and ' left in the most fatiguing manner.

'You perhaps know the lady. She is niece to Lady 'Melbourne, and cousin to Lady Cowper and others ' of your acquaintance, and has no fault, except being a great deal too good for me, and that I must pardon, if nobody else should. It might have been two years ago, and, if it had, would have saved me a world of 'trouble. She has employed the interval in refusing ' about half a dozen of my particular friends (as she ' did me once, by the way), and has taken me at last, ' for which I am very much obliged to her. I wish it

C

was well over, for I do hate bustle, and there is no

marrying without some;-and then, I must not marry

' in a black coat, they tell me, and I can't bear a blue

one.

C

Pray forgive me for scribbling all this nonsense. 'You know I must be serious all the rest of my life,

and this is a parting piece of buffoonery, which I 'write with tears in my eyes, expecting to be agitated. 'Believe me most seriously and sincerely your obliged 'servant, 'BYRON.'

P.S. My best rems. to Lord ** on his return.'

LETTER 203.

'October 7th, 1814.

by

,

'Notwithstanding the contradictory paragraph in 'the Morning Chronicle, which must have been sent or perhaps I know not why I should suspect Claughton of such a thing, and yet I partly do, be'cause it might interrupt his renewal of purchase, if 'so disposed; in short, it matters not, but we are all ' in the road to matrimony-lawyers settling, relations congratulating, my intended as kind as heart could 'wish, and every one, whose opinion I value, very glad of it. All her relatives, and all mine too, seem equally pleased.

6

"

**

TO MR. MOORE.

'Perry was very sorry, and has re-contradicted, as you will perceive by this day's paper. It was, to be sure, a devil of an insertion, since the first paragraph 'came from Sir Ralph's own County Journal, and this ' in the teeth of it would appear to him and his as my ' denial. But I have written to do away that, enclosing Perry's letter, which was very polite and kind. 'Nobody hates bustle so much as I do; but there 'seems a fatality over every scene of my drama, always C a row of some sort or other. No matter-Fortune is

6

'

my best friend, and as I acknowledge my obligations 'to her, I hope she will treat me better than she treated 'the Athenian, who took some merit to himself on 'some occasion, but (after that) took no more towns. 'In fact, she, that exquisite goddess, has hitherto car'ried me through everything, and will, I hope, now; 'since I own it will be all her doing.

'Well, now for thee. Your article on ** is perfec'tion itself. You must not leave off reviewing. By 'Jove, I believe you can do anything. There is wit, ' and taste, and learning, and good-humour (though

'not a whit less severe for that) in every line of that

6

critique.

Next to your being an E. Reviewer, my being of 'the same kidney, and Jeffrey's being such a friend to 'both, are amongst the events which I conceive were 'not calculated upon in Mr.-what's his name?'sEssay on Probabilities."

6.66

'But, Tom, I say-Oons! Scott menaces the "Lord ' of the Isles." Do you mean to compete? or lay by, 'till this wave has broke upon the shelves (of book'sellers, not rocks-a broken metaphor, by the way). You ought to be afraid of nobody; but your modesty is really as provoking and unnecessary as a **s. I ' am very merry, and have just been writing some elegiac stanzas on the death of Sir P. Parker. He ' was my first cousin, but never met since boyhood. 'Our relations desired me, and I have scribbled and

"

66

given it to Perry, who will chronicle it to-morrow. I am as sorry for him as one could be for one I never

(

saw since I was a child; but should not have wept melodiously, except " at the request of friends."

'I hope to get out of town and be married, but I shall take Newstead in my way, and you must meet

"

me at Nottingham and accompany me to mine Abbey. 'I will tell you the day when I know it.

'Ever, &c.

'P.S. By the way, my wife elect is perfection, and I hear of nothing but her merits and her wonders,

(

and that she is "very pretty." Her expectations, I

"

am told, are great; but what, I have not asked. I ' have not seen her these ten months.'