“Metrical compliment is an ample reward for my strains; you are one of the few votaries of Apollo who unite the sciences over which that deity presides.  I wish you to send my poems to my lodgings in London immediately, as I have several alterations and some additions to make; every copy must be sent, as I am about to amend them, and you shall soon behold them in all their glory. Entre nous,—­you may expect to see me soon.  Adieu.

Yours ever.”

From these letters it will be perceived that Lord Byron was already engaged in preparing a collection of his poems for the press.  The idea of printing them first occurred to him in the parlour of that cottage which, during his visits to Southwell, had become his adopted home.  Miss Pigot, who was not before aware of his turn for versifying, had been reading aloud the poems of Burns, when young Byron said that “he, too, was a poet sometimes, and would write down for her some verses of his own which he remembered.”  He then, with a pencil, wrote those lines, beginning “In thee I fondly hoped to clasp,"[50] which were printed in his first unpublished volume, but are not contained in the editions that followed.  He also repeated to her the verses I have already referred to, “When in the hall my father’s voice,” so remarkable for the anticipations of his future fame that glimmer through them.

From this moment the desire of appearing in print took entire possession of him;—­though, for the present, his ambition did not extend its views beyond a small volume for private circulation.  The person to whom fell the honour of receiving his first manuscripts was Ridge, the bookseller, at Newark; and while the work was printing, the young author continued to pour fresh materials into his hands, with the same eagerness and rapidity that marked the progress of all his maturer works.

His return to Southwell, which he announced in the last letter we have given was but for a very short time.  In a week or two after he again left that place, and, accompanied by his young friend Mr. Pigot, set out for Harrowgate.  The following extracts are from a letter written by the latter gentleman, at the time to his sister.

“Harrowgate is still extremely full; Wednesday (to-day) is our ball-night, and I meditate going into the room for an hour, although I am by no means fond of strange faces.  Lord B., you know, is even more shy than myself; but for an hour this evening I will shake it off....  How do our theatricals proceed?  Lord Byron can say all his part, and I most of mine.  He certainly acts it inimitably.  Lord B. is now poetising, and, since he has been here, has written some very pretty verses.[51] He is very good in trying to amuse me as much as possible, but it is not in my nature to be happy without either female society or study....  There are many pleasant rides about here, which I have taken in company with Bo’swain, who, with Brighton,[52] is universally admired. You must read this to Mrs. B., as it is a little Tony Lumpkinish.  Lord B. desires some space left:  therefore, with respect to all the comedians elect, believe me to be,” &c. &c.