“Correct this also by the other in some things which I may have
     forgotten.  There is one mistake he made, which, if it had stood, I
     would most certainly have broken his neck.”

[Footnote 10:  The amusing rages into which he was thrown by the printer were vented not only in these notes, but frequently on the proof-sheets themselves.  Thus, a passage in the dedication having been printed “the first of her bands in estimation,” he writes in the margin, “bards, not bands—­was there ever such a stupid misprint?” and, in correcting a line that had been curtailed of its due number of syllables, he says, “Do not omit words—­it is quite enough to alter or mis-spell them.”]

* * * * *

LETTER 158.  TO MR. MURRAY.

     “Newstead Abbey, January 22. 1814.

“You will be glad to hear of my safe arrival here.  The time of my return will depend upon the weather, which is so impracticable, that this letter has to advance through more snows than ever opposed the Emperor’s retreat.  The roads are impassable, and return impossible for the present; which I do not regret, as I am much at my ease, and six-and-twenty complete this day—­a very pretty age, if it would always last.  Our coals are excellent, our fire-places large, my cellar full, and my head empty; and I have not yet recovered my joy at leaving London.  If any unexpected turn occurred with my purchasers, I believe I should hardly quit the place at all; but shut my door, and let my beard grow.

“I forgot to mention (and I hope it is unnecessary) that the lines beginning—­Remember him, &c. must not appear with The Corsair.  You may slip them in with the smaller pieces newly annexed to Childe Harold; but on no account permit them to be appended to The Corsair.  Have the goodness to recollect this particularly.

“The books I have brought with me are a great consolation for the confinement, and I bought more as we came along.  In short, I never consult the thermometer, and shall not put up prayers for a thaw, unless I thought it would sweep away the rascally invaders of France.  Was ever such a thing as Blucher’s proclamation?

“Just before I left town, Kemble paid me the compliment of desiring me to write a tragedy; I wish I could, but I find my scribbling mood subsiding—­not before it was time; but it is lucky to check it at all.  If I lengthen my letter, you will think it is coming on again; so, good-by.  Yours alway,

     “B.