him to marry without one; that she was, moreover, a learned lady, which would not at all suit him.  In consequence of these representations, he agreed that his friend should write a proposal for him to the other lady named, which was accordingly done;—­and an answer, containing a refusal, arrived as they were, one morning, sitting together.  “You see,” said Lord Byron, “that, after all, Miss Milbanke is to be the person;—­I will write to her.”  He accordingly wrote on the moment, and, as soon as he had finished, his friend, remonstrating still strongly against his choice, took up the letter,—­but, on reading it over, observed, “Well, really, this is a very pretty letter;—­it is a pity it should not go.  I never read a prettier one.”—­“Then it shall go,” said Lord Byron; and in so saying, sealed and sent off, on the instant, this fiat of his fate.

* * * * *

LETTER 200.  TO MR. MOORE.

     “Nd., September 15. 1814.

“I have written to you one letter to-night, but must send you this much more, as I have not franked my number, to say that I rejoice in my god-daughter, and will send her a coral and bells, which I hope she will accept, the moment I get back to London.

“My head is at this moment in a state of confusion, from various causes, which I can neither describe nor explain—­but let that pass.  My employments have been very rural—­fishing, shooting, bathing, and boating.  Books I have but few here, and those I have read ten times over, till sick of them.  So, I have taken to breaking soda-water bottles with my pistols, and jumping into the water, and rowing over it, and firing at the fowls of the air.  But why should I ‘monster my nothings’ to you, who are well employed, and happily too, I should hope?  For my part, I am happy, too, in my way—­but, as usual, have contrived to get into three or four perplexities, which I do not see my way through.  But a few days, perhaps a day, will determine one of them.

“You do not say a word to me of your poem.  I wish I could see or hear it.  I neither could, nor would, do it or its author any harm.  I believe I told you of Larry and Jacquy.  A friend of mine was reading—­at least a friend of his was reading—­said Larry and Jacquy in a Brighton coach.  A passenger took up the book and queried as to the author.  The proprietor said ’there were two’—­to which the answer of the unknown was, ’Ay, ay—­a joint concern, I suppose, summot like Sternhold and Hopkins.’

     “Is not this excellent?  I would not have missed the ’vile
     comparison’ to have ’scaped being one of the ’Arcades ambo et
     cantare pares.’  Good night.  Again yours.”

* * * * *

LETTER 201.  TO MR. MOORE.

     “Newstead Abbey, Sept. 20. 1814.