at all events consider before you reject his suit.  Scott is gone to the Orkneys in a gale of wind; and Hogg says that, during the said gale, ’he is sure that Scott is not quite at his ease, to say the best of it.’  Ah!  I wish these home-keeping bards could taste a Mediterranean white squall, or ‘the Gut’ in a gale of wind, or even the ‘Bay of Biscay’ with no wind at all.”

[Footnote 44:  Mr. Hogg had been led to hope that he should be permitted to insert this poem in a Miscellany which he had at this time some thoughts of publishing; and whatever advice I may have given against such a mode of disposing of the work arose certainly not from any ill will to this ingenious and remarkable man, but from a consideration of what I thought most advantageous to the fame of Lord Byron.]

* * * * *

LETTER 192.  TO MR. MOORE.

     “Hastings, August 3. 1814.

“By the time this reaches your dwelling, I shall (God wot) be in town again probably.  I have been here renewing my acquaintance with my old friend Ocean; and I find his bosom as pleasant a pillow for an hour in the morning as his daughters of Paphos could be in the twilight.  I have been swimming and eating turbot, and smuggling neat brandies and silk handkerchiefs,—­and listening to my friend Hodgson’s raptures about a pretty wife-elect of his,—­and walking on cliffs, and tumbling down hills, and making the most of the ‘dolce far-niente’ for the last fortnight.  I met a son of Lord Erskine’s, who says he has been married a year, and is the ‘happiest of men;’ and I have met the aforesaid H., who is also the ‘happiest of men;’ so, it is worth while being here, if only to witness the superlative felicity of these foxes, who have cut off their tails, and would persuade the rest to part with their brushes to keep them in countenance.

“It rejoiceth me that you like ‘Lara.’  Jeffrey is out with his 45th Number, which I suppose you have got.  He is only too kind to me, in my share of it, and I begin to fancy myself a golden pheasant, upon the strength of the plumage wherewith he hath bedecked me.  But then, ‘surgit amari,’ &c.—­the gentlemen of the Champion, and Perry, have got hold (I know not how) of the condolatory address to Lady J. on the picture-abduction by our R * * *, and have published them—­with my name, too, smack—­without even asking leave, or enquiring whether or no!  D——­n their impudence, and d——­n every thing.  It has put me out of patience, and so, I shall say no more about it.

     “You shall have Lara and Jacque (both with some additions) when
     out; but I am still demurring and delaying, and in a fuss, and so
     is R. in his way.