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!"

LETTER XVI.

TO MISS

"August 2d, 1807.

ever,

"Crosby, my London publisher, has disposed of his second importation, and has sent to Ridge for a third-at least so he says. In every bookseller's window I see my own name and say nothing, but enjoy my fame in secret. My last reviewer kindly requests me to alter my determination of writing no more, and a Friend to the Cause of Literature' begs I will gratify the public with some new work at no very distant period.' Who would not be a bard?— that is to say, if all critics would be so polite. Howthe others will pay me off, I doubt not, for this gentle encouragement. If so, have at 'em! By the by, I have written at my intervals of leisure, after 2 in the morning, 380 lines in blank verse, of Bosworth Field. I have luckily got Hutton's account. I shall extend the Poem to 8 or 10 books, and shall have finished it in a year. Whether it will be published or not must depend on circumstances. So much for egotism! My laurels have turned my brain, but the cooling acids of forthcoming criticisms will probably restore me to modesty.

"Southwell is a damned place-I have done with

esteem no one within its precincts. You were my only rational companion; and in plain truth, I had more respect for you than the whole bevy, with whose foibles I amused myself in compliance with their prevailing propensities. You gave yourself more trouble with me and my manuscripts than a thousand dolls would have done. Believe me, I have not forgotten your good-nature in this circle of sin, and one day I trust I shall be able to evince my gragratitude. Adieu.—Yours, &c.

"London begins to disgorge its contents-town is 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 2 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 gentle-it-at least in all probability: excepting yourself, I man, 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.'

* This first attempt of Lord Byron at reviewing (for it will be seen that he, once or twice afterwards, tried his hand at this least poetical of employments) is remarkable only as showing how plausibly he could assume the established tone and phraseology of these minor judgment-seats of criticism. For instance: The volumes before us are by the Author of Lyrical Ballads, a collection which has not undeservedly met with a considerable share of public applause. The characteristics of Mr Wordsworth's muse are simple and flowing, though occasionally inharmonious, verse,-strong and sometimes irresistible appeals to the feelings, with unexceptionable sentiments. Though the present work may not equal his former efforts, many of the poems possess If Mr Wordsworth ever a native elegance," &c. &c. chanced to cast his eye over this article, how little could he have suspected that under that dull prosaic mask lurked one who, in five short years from thence, would rival even him in poetry.

"P.S. Remember me to Dr P."

LETTER XVII.

TO MISS

"London, August 11th, 1807. "On Sunday next I set off for the Highlands.* A friend of mine accompanies me in my carriage to Edinburgh. There we shall leave it, and proceed in a tandem (a species of open carriage) through the western passes to Inverary, where we shall purchase shellies, to enable us to view places inaccessible to vehicular conveyances. On the coast we shall hire a vessel and visit the most remarkable of the Hebrides, and, if we have time and favourable weather, mean to sail as far as Iceland, only 300 miles from the northern extremity of Caledonia, to peep at Hecla. This last intention you will keep a secret, as my nice mamma would imagine I was on a Voyage of Discovery, and raise the accustomed maternal warwhoop.

"Last week I swam in the Thames from Lambeth through the 2 bridges, Westminster and Blackfriars, a distance, including the different turns and tacks made on the way, of 3 miles! You see I am in exI mean to cellent training in case of a squall at sea.

* This plan (which he never put in practice) had been talked of by him before he left Southwell, and is thus noticed in a letter of his fair correspondent to her brother:"How can you ask if Lord B. is going to visit the Highlands in the summer? Why, don't you know that he never knows his own mind for ten minutes together? I tell him he is as fickle as the winds, and as uncertain as the waves."

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after all, Southwell was a detestable residence. Thank St Dominica, I have done with it: I have been twice within eight miles of it, but could not prevail on myself to suffocate in its heavy atmosphere. This place is wretched enough-a villanous chaos of din and drunkenness, nothing but hazard and burgundy, hunting, mathematics and Newmarket, riot and racing. Yet it is a paradise compared with the eternal dullness of Southwell. Oh! the misery of doing nothing but make love, enemies, and verses.

"Next January (but this is entre nous only, and pray let it be so, or my maternal persecutor will be throwing her tomahawk at any of my curious projects) I am going to sea, for four or five months, with my cousin Capt. Bettesworth, who commands the Tartar, the finest frigate in the navy. I have seen most scenes, and wish to look at a naval life. We are going probably to the Mediterranean, or to the West Indies, or to the d-1; and if there is a possibility of taking me to the latter, Bettesworth will do it; for he has received four and twenty wounds in different places, and at this moment possesses a letter from the late Lord Nelson, stating Bettesworth as the only officer in the navy who had more wounds than himself.

collect all the Erse traditions, poems, &c. &c., and translate, or expand the subject to fill a volume, which may appear next spring under the denomi nation of The Highland Harp,' or some title equally picturesque. Of Bosworth Field, one book is finished, another just began. It will be a work of 3 or 4 years, and most probably never conclude. What would you say to some stanzas on Mount Hecla? they would be written at least with fire. How is the immortal Bran? and the Phoenix of canine quadrupeds, Boatswain? I have lately purchased a thorough-bred bull-dog, worthy to be the coadjutor of the aforesaid celestials-his name is Smut!-bear it, ye breezes, on your balmy wings.' "Write to me before I set off, I conjure you by the 5th rib of your grandfather. Ridge goes on well with the books-I thought that worthy had not done much in the country. In town they have been very successful; Carpenter (Moore's publisher) told me a few days ago they sold all theirs immediately, and had several inquiries made since, which, from the books being gone, they could not supply. The Duke of York, the Marchioness of Headfort, the Duchess of Gordon, &c. &c. were among the purchasers, and Crosby says the circulation will be still more extensive in the winter; the summer season being very "I have got a new friend, the finest in the world, bad for a sale, as most people are absent from a tame bear. When I brought him here, they asked London. However, they have gone off extremely me what I meant to do with him, and my reply was, well altogether. I shall pass very near you on my 'he should sit for a fellowship.' Sherard will exjourney through Newark, but cannot approach. plain the meaning of the sentence, if it is ambiguous. Don't tell this to Mrs B., who supposes I travel a This answer delighted them not. We have several different road. If you have a letter, order it to be parties here, and this evening a large assortment of left at Ridge's shop, where I shall call, or the post-jockies, gamblers, boxers, authors, parsons, and office, Newark, about 6 or 8 in the evening. If your brother would ride over, I should be devilish glad to see him he can return the same night, or sup with us and go home the next morning-the Kingston Arms is my inn.

"Adieu. Yours ever,

LETTER XVIII.

TO MISS

"BYRON."

<< Trinity College, Cambridge, October 26th, 1807. "MY DEAR ELIZABETH, "Fatigued with sitting up till four in the morning for the last two days at hazard,* I take up my pen to inquire how your highness and the rest of my female acquaintance at the seat of archiepiscopal grandeur go on. I know I deserve a scolding for my negligence in not writing more frequently; but racing up and down the country for these last three months, how was it possible to fulfil the duties of a correspondent? Fixed at last for six weeks, I write, as thin as ever (not having gained an ounce since my reduction), and rather in better humour ;-but,

* We observe here, as in other parts of his early letters, that sort of display and boast of rakishness which is but too common a folly at this period of life, when the young aspirant to manhood persuades himself that to be profligate is to be manly. Unluckily, this boyish desire of being thought worse than he really was remained with Lord Byron, as did some other feelings and foibles of his boyhood, long after the period when, with others, they are past and forgotten; and his mind, indeed, was but beginning to outgrow them, when he was snatched away.

poets, sup with me,-a precious mixture, but they go on well together; and for me, I am a spice of every thing, except a jockey; by the by, I was dismounted again the other day.

"Thank your brother in my name for his treatise. I have written 214 pages of a novel,-one poem of 380 lines, to be published (without my name) in a few weeks, with notes,-560 lines of Bosworth Field, and 250 lines of another poem in rhyme, besides half a dozen smaller pieces. The poem to be published is a Satire. Apropos, I have been praised to the skies in the Critical Review,† and abused greatly in another publication. So much the better, they tell me, for the sale of the book; it keeps up controversy, and prevents it being forgotten. Besides, the first men of all ages have had their share, nor do the humblest escape;-so I bear it like a philosopher. It is odd two opposite critiques came out on the same day, and out of five pages of abuse my censor only

*The Poem afterwards enlarged and published under the title of English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." It appears from this that the ground work of that satire had been laid some time before the appearance of the article

in the Edinburgh Review.

Sept. 1807. This Review, in pronouncing upon the young author's future career, showed itself somewhat more "prophet-like" than the great oracle of the north. In noticing the Elegy on Newstead Abbey, the writer says, "We could not but hail with something of prophetic rap ture, the hope conveyed in the closing stanza:

Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine,

Thee to irradiate with meridian ray, &c. &c.

The first number of a monthly publication called "The Satirist," in which there appeared afterwards some low and personal attacks upon him.

and whose loss he afterwards lamented with brotherly tenderness, was to the same extent as himself, if not more strongly, a sceptic. Of this remarkable young man, Matthews, who was so early snatched away, and whose career in after-life, had it been at all answerable to the extraordinary promise of his youth, must have placed him upon a level with the first men of his day, a Memoir was, at one time, intended to be published by his relatives; and to Lord Byron, among others of his college friends, application for assistance in the task was addressed. The letter which this circumstance drew forth from the noble poet, besides containing many amusing traits of his friend, affords such an insight into his own habits of life at this period, that, though infringing upon the chronological order of his correspondence, I shalt insert it here.

LETTER XIX.

TO MR MURRAY.

had written some poetry. I had always lived a good deal, and got drunk occasionally, in their companybut now we became really friends in a morning. Matthews, however, was not at this period resident in College. I met him chiefly in London, and at uncertain periods at Cambridge. H* in the mean time, did great things: he founded the Cambridge Whig Club' (which he seems to have forgotten), and the Amicable Society,' which was dissolved in consequence of the members constantly quarrelling, and made himself very popular with us youth,' and no less formidable to all tutors, professors, and heads of colleges. William B** was gone; while he staid, he ruled the roast-or rather the roasting— and was father of all mischiefs.

"Matthews and I, meeting in London, and elsewhere, became great cronies. He was not goodtempered-nor am I-but with a little tact his temper was manageable, and I thought him so superior a man, that I was willing to sacrifice something to his humours, which were often, at the same time, amusing and provoking. What became of his papers (and he certainly had many), at the time of his death, was never known. I mention this by the way, fearing to skip it over, and as he wrote remarkably well, both in Latin and English. We went down to Newstead together, where I had got a famous cellar, and Monks' dresses from a masquerade warehouse. We were a company of some seven or eight, with an occasional neighbour or so for visitors, and used to sit up late in our Friars' dresses, drinking burgundy, claret, champagne, and what not, out of the skull-cup, and all sorts of glasses, and buffooning all round the house, in our conventual garments. Matthews always denominated me the Abbot,' and never called me by any other name in his good humours, to the day of his death. The harmony of these our symposia was somewhat interrupted, a few days after our assembling, by Matthews's threatening to throw bold W** (as he was called, from winning a foot-match, and a horse-match, the first from Ipswich to London, and the second from Brighthelmstone), by threatening to throw bold W** out of a window, in consequence of I know not what commerce of jokes ending in this epigram. W** came to me and said, that his respect and regard for me as host would not permit him to call out any of my guests, and that he should go to town next morning? He did. It was in vain that I represented to him that the window was not high, and that the turf under it was particularly soft. Away he went.

"Ravenna, 9bre 12, 1820. "What you said of the late Charles Skinner Matthews has set me to my recollections; but I have not been able to turn up any thing which would do for the purposed Memoir of his brother, even if he had previously done enough during his life to sanction the introduction of anecdotes so merely personal. He was, however, a very extraordinary man, and would have been a great one. No one ever succeeded in a more surpassing degree than he did, as far as he went. He was indolent too; but whenever he stripped he overthrew all antagonists. His conquests will be found registered at Cambridge, particularly his Downing one, which was hotly and highly contested, and yet easily won. Hobhouse was his most intimate friend, and can tell you more of him than any man. William Bankes also a great deal. I myself recollect more of his oddities than of his academical qualities, for we lived most together at a very idle period of my life. When I went up to Trinity in 1805, at the age of seventeen and a half, I was miserable and untoward to a degree. I was wretched at leaving Harrow, to which I had become attached during the two last years of my stay there; wretched at going to Cambridge instead of Oxford (there were no rooms vacant at Christ-church), wretched from some private domestic circumstances of different kinds, and consequently about as unsocial as a wolf taken from the troop. So that, although I knew Matthews, and met him often then at Bankes's (who was my collegiate pastor, and master, and patron), and at Rhode's, "Matthews and myself had travelled down from Milnes's, Price's, Dick's, Macnamara's, Farrell's, London together, talking all the way incessantly upon Galley Knight's, and others of that set of cotempo- one single topic. When we got to Loughborough, raries, yet I was neither intimate with him nor with I know not what chasm had made us diverge for a any one else, except my old schoolfellow Edward moment to some other subject, at which he was inLong (with whom I used to pass the day in riding dignant. 'Come,' said he, don't let us break and swimming,) and William Bankes, who was good-through-let us go on as we began, to our journey's naturedly tolerant of my ferocities.

"It was not till 1807, after I had been upwards of a year away from Cambridge, to which I had returned again to reside for my degree, that I became one of Matthews's familiars, by means of H**, who, after hating me for two years because I wore a white hat and a gray coat and rode a gray horse' (as he says himself), took me into his good graces, because I

end;' and so he continued, and was as entertaining as ever to the very end. He had previously occupied, during my year's absence from Cambridge, my rooms in Trinity, with the furniture; and Jones the tutor, in his odd way, had said on putting him in, 'Mr Matthews, I recommend to your attention not to damage any of the moveables, for Lord Byron, sir, is a young man of tumultuous passions.' Matthews

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have only to turn your head-I am close by you.' 'That is exactly what I cannot do,' answered Matthews: don't you see the state I am in?' pointing to his buckram shirt collar, and inflexible cravat,-and there he stood with his head always in the same perpendicular position during the whole spectacle.

was delighted with this; and whenever any body Dogherty (whom I had backed and made the match came to visit him, begged them to handle the very for against Tom Belcher), and I saw them spar togedoor with caution; and used to repeat Jones's admo- ther at my own lodgings with the gloves on. As he nition, in his tone and manner. There was a large was bent upon it, I would have backed Dogherty to mirror in the room, on which he remarked, that he please him, but the match went off. It was of course thought his friends were grown uncommonly assi- to have been a private fight in a private room. duous in coming to see him, but he soon discovered "On one occasion, being too late to go home and that they only came to see themselves.' Jones's dress, he was equipped by a friend (Mr Bailey, I phrase of tumultuous passions,' and the whole scene, believe), in a magnificently fashionable and somewhat had put him into such good humour, that I verily exaggerated shirt and neckcloth. He proceeded to believe, that I owed to it a portion of his good graces. the Opera, and took his station in Fop's Alley. “When at Newstead, somebody by accident During the interval between the opera and the ballet, rubbed against one of his white silk stockings, one an acquaintance took his station by him, and saluted day before dinner; of course the gentleman apolo- him: Come round,' said Matthews,' come round.' gized. Sir,' answered Matthews, it may be allWhy should I come round?' said the other; 'you very well for you, who have a great many silk stockings, to dirty other people's; but to me, who have only this one pair, which I have put on in honour of the Abbot here, no apology can compensate for such carelessness; besides the expense of washing." He had the same sort of droll sardonic way about every thing. A wild Irishman, named F**, one evening beginning to say something at a large supper at Cambridge, Matthews roared out, Silence!' and then, pointing to F**, cried out, in the words of the oracle, Orson is endowed with reason.' You may easily suppose that Orson lost what reason he had acquired, on hearing this compliment. When H** published his volume of Poems, the Miscellany (which Matthews would call the Miss-sell-any'), all that could be drawn from him was, that the preface was extremely like Walsh.' H** thought this at first a compliment; but we never could make out what it was, for all we know of Walsh is his Ode to King William, and Pope's epithet of knowing Walsh.' When the Newstead party broke up for London, H ** and Matthews, who were the greatest friends possible, agreed, for a whim, to walk together to town. They quarrelled by the way, and actually walked the latter half of their journey, occasionally passing and repassing, without speaking. When Matthews had got to Highgate, he had spent all his money but threepence halfpenny, and determined to spend that also in a pint of beer, which I believe he was drinking before a public-house, as H** passed him (still without speaking) for the last time on their route. They were reconciled in London again.

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"One of Matthews's passions was the Fancy;' and he sparred uncommonly well. But he always got beaten in rows, or combats with the bare fist. In swimming too, he swam well; but with effort and labour, and too high out of the water; so that Scrope Davies and myself, of whom he was therein somewhat emulous, always told him that he would be drowned if ever he came to a difficult pass in the water. He was so; but surely Scrope and myself would have been most heartily glad that

the Dean had lived,

And our prediction proved a lie.

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"One evening, after dining together, as we were going to the Opera, I happened to have a spare Opera ticket (as subscriber to a box), and presented it to Matthews. Now, sir,' said he to Hobhouse afterwards, this I call courteous in the Abbot-another man would never have thought that I might do better with half a guinea than throw it to a doorkeeper;-but here is a man not only asks me to dinner, but gives me a ticket for the theatre.' These were only his oddities, for no man was more liberal, or more honourable in all his doings and dealings than Matthews. He gave Hobhouse and me, before we set out for Constantinople, a most splendid entertainment, to which we did ample justice. One of his fancies was dining at all sorts of out of the way places. Somebody popped upon him, in I know not what coffee-house in the Strand-and what do you think was the attraction? Why, that he paid a shilling (I think) to dine with his hat on. This he called his hat house,' and used to boast of the comfort of being covered at meal-times.

"When Sir Henry Smith was expelled from Cambridge for a row with a tradesman named 'Hiron,' Matthews solaced himself with shouting under Hiron's windows every evening,

Ah me! what perils do environ

The man who meddles with hot Hiron.

"He was also of that band of profane scoffers, who, under the auspices of ****, **, used to rouse Lort Mansel (late Bishop of Bristol) from his slumbers in the lodge of Trinity, and when he appeared at the window foaming with wrath, and crying out I know you, gentlemen, I know you!' were wont to reply, 'We beseech thee to hear us, good Lort-Good Lort, deliver us!' (Lort was his christian name.) As he was very free in his speculations upon all kinds of subjects, although by no means either dissolute or intemperate in his conduct, and as I was no less

"His head was uncommonly handsome, very like independent, our conversation and correspondence what Pope's was in his youth.

"His voice, and laugh, and features, are strongly resembled by his brother Henry's, if Henry be he of King's College. His passion for boxing was so great, that he actually wanted me to match him with

used to alarm our friend Hobhouse to a considerable degree