“I did well to avoid the water-party,—­why, is a mystery, which is not less to be wondered at than all my other mysteries.  Tell Milor that I am deep in his MS., and will do him justice by a diligent perusal.”

“The letter which I enclose I was prevented from sending by my despair of its doing any good.  I was perfectly sincere when I wrote it, and am so still.  But it is difficult for me to withstand the thousand provocations on that subject, which both friends and foes have for seven years been throwing in the way of a man whose feelings were once quick, and whose temper was never patient.  But ’returning were as tedious as go o’er.’  I feel this as much as ever Macbeth did; and it is a dreary sensation, which at least avenges the real or imaginary wrongs of one of the two unfortunate persons whom it concerns.”

“But I am going to be gloomy;—­so ‘to bed, to bed.’  Good night,—­or rather morning.  One of the reasons why I wish to avoid society is, that I can never sleep after it, and the pleasanter it has been the less I rest.”

“Ever most truly,” &c. &c.

I shall now produce the enclosure contained in the above; and there are few, I should think, of my readers who will not agree with me in pronouncing, that if the author of the following letter had not right on his side, he had at least most of those good feelings which are found in general to accompany it.

LETTER 518.  TO LADY BYRON.

(TO THE CARE OF THE HON.  MRS. LEIGH, LONDON.)

Pisa, November 17. 1821.

I have to acknowledge the receipt of ’Ada’s hair,’which is very soft and pretty, and nearly as dark already as mine was at twelve years old, if I may judge from what I recollect of some in Augusta’s possession, taken at that age.  But it don’t curl,—­perhaps from its being let grow.

“I also thank you for the inscription of the date and name, and I will tell you why;—­I believe that they are the only two or three words of your handwriting in my possession.  For your letters I returned, and except the two words, or rather the one word, ‘Household,’ written twice in an old account book, I have no other.  I burnt your last note, for two reasons:—­firstly, it was written in a style not very agreeable; and, secondly, I wished to take your word without documents, which are the worldly resources of suspicious people.

I suppose that this note will reach you somewhere about Ada’s birthday—­the 10th of December, I believe.  She will then be six, so that in about twelve more I shall have some chance of meeting her;—­perhaps sooner, if I am obliged to go to England by business or otherwise.  Recollect, however, one thing, either in distance or nearness;—­every day which keeps us asunder should, after so long a period, rather soften our mutual feelings, which must always have one rallying-point as long as our child exists, which I presume we both hope will be long after either of her parents.