many others. I never, in fact, could overcome entirely the prejudice
of the first impression, although I ought to have been gratified by
the friendship and confidence with which he always appeared disposed
to treat me. When Childe Harold was printed, he sent me a quarto
copy before the publication; a favour and distinction I have always
prized; and the copy which he gave me of The Bride of Abydos was one
he had prepared for a new edition, and which contains, in his own
writing, these six lines in no other copy:

Bless'd--as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wall
To pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call,
Soft--as the melody of youthful days
That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise,
Sweet--as his native song to exile's ears
Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.

He had not, it is true, at the period of which I am speaking,
gathered much of his fame; but the gale was rising--and though the
vessel was evidently yielding to the breeze, she was neither crank
nor unsteady. On the contrary, the more he became an object of
public interest, the less did he indulge his capricious humour.
About the time when The Bride of Abydos was published, he appeared
disposed to settle into a consistent character--especially after the
first sale of Newstead. Before that particular event, he was often
so disturbed in his mind, that he could not conceal his unhappiness,
and frequently spoke of leaving England for ever.

Although few men were more under the impulses of passion than Lord
Byron, there was yet a curious kind of management about him which
showed that he was well aware how much of the world's favour was to
be won by it. Long before Childe Harold appeared, it was generally
known that he had a poem in the press, and various surmises to
stimulate curiosity were circulated concerning it: I do not say that
these were by his orders, or under his directions, but on one
occasion I did fancy that I could discern a touch of his own hand in
a paragraph in the Morning Post, in which he was mentioned as having
returned from an excursion into the interior of Africa; and when I
alluded to it, my suspicion was confirmed by his embarrassment.

I mention this incident not in the spirit of detraction; for in the
paragraph there was nothing of puff, though certainly something of
oddity--but as a tint of character, indicative of the appetite for
distinction by which, about this period, he became so powerfully
in