ed by any nobler sentiment than self-
indulgence; he was attached, more from the pleasure he himself
received in their society, than from any reciprocal enjoyment they
had with him. As he became a man of the world, his early friends
dropped from him; although it is evident, by all the contemporary
records of his feelings, that he cherished for them a kind, and even
brotherly, affection. This secession, the common effect of the new
cares, hopes, interests, and wishes, which young men feel on entering
the world, Byron regarded as something analogous to desertion; and
the notion tainted his mind, and irritated that hereditary sullenness
of humour, which constituted an ingredient so remarkable in the
composition of his more mature character.

An anecdote of this period, characteristic of his eccentricity, and
the means which he scrupled not to employ in indulging it, deserves
to be mentioned.

In repairing Newstead Abbey, a skull was found in a secret niche of
the walls. It might have been that of the monk who haunted the
house, or of one of his own ancestors, or of some victim of the
morose race. It was converted into a goblet, and used at Odin-like
orgies. Though the affair was but a whim of youth, more odious than
poetical, it caused some talk, and raised around the extravagant host
the haze of a mystery, suggesting fantasies of irreligion and horror.
The inscription on the cup is not remarkable either for point or
poetry.

Start not, nor deem my spot fled;
In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.

I liv'd, I lov'd, I quaff'd like thee;
I died, but earth my bones resign:
Fill up--thou canst not injure me,
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

Better to hold the sparkling grape
Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood,
And circle in the goblet's shape
The drink of gods than reptile's food.

Where once my wit perchance hath shone,
In aid of others let me shine;
And when, alas, our brains are gone,
What nobler substitute than wine?

Quaff while thou canst--another race,
When thou and thine like me are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.

Why not? since through life's little day,
Our heads such sad effects produce;
Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,
This chance is theirs, to be use.

CHAPTER VII

Effect of the Criticism in the "Edinburgh Review"--"English Ba