The Works Of Lord Byron, Letters and Journals, Vol. 1 by Lord Byron, Edited by Rowland E. Prothero

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I have got a new friend, the finest in the world, a _tame bear_. [2]
When I brought him here, they asked me what I meant to do with him,
and my reply was, "he should _sit for a fellowship._" Sherard will
explain the meaning of the sentence, if it is ambiguous. This answer
delighted them not. We have several parties here, and this evening a
large assortment of jockeys, gamblers, boxers, authors, parsons, and
poets, sup with me,--a precious mixture, but they go on well together;
and for me, I am a _spice_ of every thing except a jockey; by the bye,
I was dismounted again the other day.

Thank your brother in my name for his treatise. I have written 214
pages of a novel--one poem of 380 lines, [3] to be published (without
my name) in a few weeks, with notes,--560 lines of Bosworth Field, and
250 lines of another poem in rhyme, besides half a dozen smaller
pieces. The poem to be published is a Satire. _Apropos_, I have been
praised to the skies in the _Critical Review_, [4] and abused greatly
in another publication. [5] So much the better, they tell me, for the
sale of the book: it keeps up controversy, and prevents it being
forgotten. Besides, the first men of all ages have had their share,
nor do the humblest escape;--so I bear it like a philosopher. It is
odd two opposite critiques came out on the same day, and out of five
pages of abuse, my censor only quotes _two lines_ from different
poems, in support of his opinion. Now, the proper way to _cut up_, is
to quote long passages, and make them appear absurd, because simple
allegation is no proof. On the other hand, there are seven pages of
praise, and more than _my modesty_ will allow said on the subject.
Adieu.

P.S.--Write, write, write!!!

[Footnote 1: George Edmund Byron Bettesworth (1780-1808), as lieutenant
of the 'Centaur', was wounded (1804) in the capture of the 'Curieux'. In
command of the latter vessel he captured the 'Dame Ernouf' (1805), and
was again wounded. He was made a post-captain in the latter year, when
he brought home despatches from Nelson at Antigua, announcing
Villeneuve's return to Europe. He was killed off Bergen in 1808, while
in command of the 'Tartar'. Captain Bettesworth, whose father assumed
the name of Bettesworth in addition to that of Trevanion, married, in
1807, Lady Alethea Grey, daughter of Earl Grey. Through his grandmother,
Sophia Trevanion, Byron was Captain Bettesworth's cousin.]

[Footnote 2: See 'Poems', vol. i. p. 406. ]

[Footnote 3: This poem, printed in book form, but not published, under
the title of 'British Bards', is the foundation of 'English Bards, and
Scotch Reviewers'. The MS. is in the possession of Mr. Murray.]

[Footnote 4: For September, 1807. In noticing the Elegy on Newstead
Abbey, the writer says, "We could not but hail, with something of
prophetic rapture, the hope conveyed in the closing stanza:--

"'Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine,
Thee to irradiate with meridian ray.'"]

[Footnote 5: The first number of 'The Satirist: A Monthly Meteor'
(October, 1807).]

82.--To J. Ridge.

Trinity College, Cambridge, November 20, 1807.

Sir,--I am happy to hear every thing goes on so well, and I presume
you will soon commence, though I am still of opinion the first Edition
had better be entirely sold, before you risk the printing of a second.
As Curly recommends fine wove Foolscap, let it be used, and I will
order a design in London for a plate, my own portrait would perhaps be
best, but as that would take up so long a time in completing we will
substitute probably a view of Harrow, [1] or Newstead in its stead.

You will omit the poems mentioned below:

Stanzas on a view of Harrow.
To a Quaker.
The First Kiss of Love.
College Examinations.
Lines to the Rev. J. T. Becher.

To be inserted, not exactly in the place, but in different parts of
the volume, I will send you five poems never yet published. Two of
tolerable length, at least much longer than any of the above, which
are ordered to be omitted.

Mention in your answer when you would like to receive the manuscripts
that they may be sent. By the bye, I must have the proofs of the
Manuscripts sent to Cambridge as they occur; the proofs from the
printed copy you can manage with care, if Mr. Becher will assist you.
Attend to the list of _Errata_, that we may not have a _Second
Edition_ of them also.

The Preface we have done with, perhaps I may send an Advertisement, a
dedication shall be forthcoming in due Season.

You will send a proof of the first Sheet for Inspection, and soon too,
for I am about to set out for London next week. If I remain there any
time, I shall apprize you where to send the Manuscript Proofs.

Do you think the others will be sold before the next are ready, what
says Curly? remember I have advised you not to risk it a second time,
and it is not too late to retract. However, you must abide by your own
discretion:

Etc., etc.,

BYRON.

P.S.--You will print from the Copy I sent you with the alterations,
pray attend to these, and be careful of mistakes. In my last I gave
you directions concerning the Title page and Mottoes.

[Footnote 1: A view of Harrow was given.]

83.--To John Hanson.

Trin. Coll., Cambridge, Dec. 2nd, 1807.

My Dear Sir,--I hope to take my New Years Day dinner with you _en
famille_. Tell Hargreaves I will bring his Blackstones, and shall have
no objection to see my Daniel's _Field Sports_, if they have not
escaped his recollection.--I certainly wish the expiration of my
minority as much as you do, though for a reason more nearly affecting
my magisterial person at this moment, namely, the want of twenty
pounds, for no spendthrift peer, or unlucky poet, was ever less
indebted to _Cash_ than George Gordon is at present, or is more likely
to continue in the same predicament.--My present quarter due on the
25th was drawn long ago, and I must be obliged to you for the loan of
twenty on my next, to be deducted when the whole becomes tangible,
that is, probably, some months after it is exhausted. Reserve Murray's
quarter, [1] of course, and I shall have just 100 _!_. to receive at
Easter, but if the risk of my demand is too great, inform me, that I
may if possible convert my Title into cash, though I am afraid twenty
pounds will be too much to ask as Times go, if I were an Earl ... but
a Barony must fetch ten, perhaps fifteen, and that is something when
we have not as many pence. Your answer will oblige

Yours very truly,

BYRON.

P.S.--Remember me to Mrs. H. in particular, and the family in general.

[Footnote 1: Joe Murray. (See page 21 [Letter 7], [Foot]note 3 [4].)]

84.--To John Murray. [1]

Ravenna, 9bre 19, 1820.

What you said of the late Charles Skinner Matthews [2] has set me to
my recollections; but I have not been able to turn up any thing which
would do for the purposed Memoir of his brother,--even if he had
previously done enough during his life to sanction the introduction of
anecdotes so merely personal. He was, however, a very extraordinary
man, and would have been a great one. No one ever succeeded in a more
surpassing degree than he did as far as he went. He was indolent, too;
but whenever he stripped, he overthrew all antagonists. His conquests
will be found registered at Cambridge, particularly his _Downing_ one,
which was hotly and highly contested, and yet easily _won_. Hobhouse
was his most intimate friend, and can tell you more of him than any
man. William Bankes [3] also a great deal. I myself recollect more of
his oddities than of his academical qualities, for we lived most
together at a very idle period of _my_ life. When I went up to
Trinity, in 1805, at the age of seventeen and a half, I was miserable
and untoward to a degree. I was wretched at leaving Harrow, to which I
had become attached during the two last years of my stay there;
wretched at going to Cambridge instead of Oxford (there were no rooms
vacant at Christchurch); wretched from some private domestic
circumstances of different kinds, and consequently about as unsocial
as a wolf taken from the troop. So that, although I knew Matthews, and
met him often _then_ at Bankes's, (who was my collegiate pastor, and
master, and patron,) and at Rhode's, Milnes's, Price's, Dick's,
Macnamara's, Farrell's, Gally Knight's, and others of that _set_ of
contemporaries, yet I was neither intimate with him nor with any one
else, except my old schoolfellow Edward Long [4] (with whom I used to
pass the day in riding and swimming), and William Bankes, who was
good-naturedly tolerant of my ferocities.

It was not till 1807, after I had been upwards of a year away from
Cambridge, to which I had returned again to _reside_ for my degree,
that I became one of Matthews's familiars, by means of Hobhouse, [5]
who, after hating me for two years, because I wore a _white hat_, and
a _grey_ coat, and rode a _grey_ horse (as he says himself), took me
into his good graces because I had written some poetry. I had always
lived a good deal, and got drunk occasionally, in their company--but
now we became really friends in a morning. Matthews, however, was not
at this period resident in College. I met _him_ chiefly in London, and
at uncertain periods at Cambridge. Hobhouse, in the mean time, did
great things: he founded the Cambridge "Whig Club" (which he seems to
have forgotten), and the "Amicable Society," which was dissolved in
consequence of the members constantly quarrelling, and made himself
very popular with "us youth," and no less formidable to all tutors,
professors, and heads of Colleges. William Bankes was gone; while he
stayed, he ruled the roast--or rather the _roasting_--and was father
of all mischiefs.

Matthews and I, meeting in London, and elsewhere, became great
cronies. He was not good tempered--nor am I--but with a little tact
his temper was manageable, and I thought him so superior a man, that I
was willing to sacrifice something to his humours, which were often,
at the same time, amusing and provoking. What became of his _papers_
(and he certainly had many), at the time of his death, was never
known. I mention this by the way, fearing to skip it over, and _as_ he
_wrote_ remarkably well, both in Latin and English. We went down to
Newstead together, [6] where I had got a famous cellar, and _Monks'_
dresses from a masquerade warehouse. We were a company of some seven
or eight, with an occasional neighbour or so for visiters, and used to
sit up late in our friars' dresses, drinking burgundy, claret,
champagne, and what not, out of the _skull-cup_, and all sorts of
glasses, and buffooning all round the house, in our conventual
garments. [7] Matthews always denominated me "the Abbot," and never
called me by any other name in his good humours, to the day of his
death. The harmony of these our symposia was somewhat interrupted, a
few days after our assembling, by Matthews's threatening to throw
Hobhouse out of a _window_, in consequence of I know not what commerce
of jokes ending in this epigram. Hobhouse came to me and said, that
"his respect and regard for me as host would not permit him to call
out any of my guests, and that he should go to town next morning." He
did. It was in vain that I represented to him that the window was not
high, and that the turf under it was particularly soft. Away he went.

Matthews and myself had travelled down from London together, talking
all the way incessantly upon one single topic. When we got to
Loughborough, I know not what chasm had made us diverge for a moment
to some other subject, at which he was indignant. "Come," said he,
"don't let us break through--let us go on as we began, to our
journey's end;" and so he continued, and was as entertaining as ever
to the very end. He had previously occupied, during my year's absence
from Cambridge, my rooms in Trinity, with the furniture; and Jones,
[8] the tutor, in his odd way, had said, on putting him in,

"Mr. Matthews, I recommend to your attention not to damage any of
the moveables, for Lord Byron, Sir, is a young man of _tumultuous
passions_."

Matthews was delighted with this; and whenever anybody came to visit
him, begged them to handle the very door with caution; and used to
repeat Jones's admonition in his tone and manner. There was a large
mirror in the room, on which he remarked, "that he thought his friends
were grown uncommonly assiduous in coming to _see him_, but he soon
discovered that they only came to _see themselves_." Jones's phrase of
"_tumultuous passions_" and the whole scene, had put him into such
good humour, that I verily believe that I owed to it a portion of his
good graces.

When at Newstead, somebody by accident rubbed against one of his white
silk stockings, one day before dinner; of course the gentleman
apologised.

"Sir," answered Matthews, "it may be all very well for you, who have
a great many silk stockings, to dirty other people's; but to me, who
have only this _one pair_, which I have put on in honour of the
Abbot here, no apology can compensate for such carelessness;
besides, the expense of washing."

He had the same sort of droll sardonic way about every thing. A wild
Irishman, named Farrell, one evening began to say something at a large
supper at Cambridge, Matthews roared out "Silence!" and then, pointing
to Farrell, cried out, in the words of the oracle, "Orson is endowed
with reason." You may easily suppose that Orson lost what reason he
had acquired, on hearing this compliment. When Hobhouse published his
volume of poems, the _Miscellany_ (which Matthews would call the
"_Miss-sell-any_"), all that could be drawn from him was, that the
preface was "extremely like _Walsh_." Hobhouse thought this at first a
compliment; but we never could make out what it was, [9] for all we
know of _Walsh_ is his Ode to King William, [10] and Pope's epithet of
"_knowing Walsh_." [11] When the Newstead party broke up for London,
Hobhouse and Matthews, who were the greatest friends possible, agreed,
for a whim, to _walk together_ to town. They quarrelled by the way,
and actually walked the latter half of the journey, occasionally
passing and repassing, without speaking. When Matthews had got to
Highgate, he had spent all his money but three-pence halfpenny, and
determined to spend that also in a pint of beer, which I believe he
was drinking before a public-house, as Hobhouse passed him (still
without speaking) for the last time on their route. They were
reconciled in London again.

One of Matthews's passions was "the fancy;" and he sparred uncommonly
well. But he always got beaten in rows, or combats with the bare fist.
In swimming, too, he swam well; but with _effort_ and _labour_, and
_too high_ out of the water; so that Scrope Davies [1] and myself, of
whom he was therein somewhat emulous, always told him that he would be
drowned if ever he came to a difficult pass in the water. He was so;
but surely Scrope and myself would have been most heartily glad that

"the Dean had lived,
And our prediction proved a lie."

His head was uncommonly handsome, very like what _Pope's_ was in his
youth.

His voice, and laugh, and features, are strongly resembled by his
brother Henry's, if Henry be _he_ of _King's College_. His passion for
boxing was so great, that he actually wanted me to match him with
Dogherty [13] (whom I had backed and made the match for against Tom
Belcher [14]), and I saw them spar together at my own lodgings with
the gloves on. As he was bent upon it, I would have backed Dogherty to
please him, but the match went off. It was of course to have been a
private fight, in a private room.

On one occasion, being too late to go home and dress, he was equipped
by a friend (Mr. Baillie, I believe,) in a magnificently fashionable
and somewhat exaggerated shirt and neckcloth. He proceeded to the
Opera, and took his station in Fop's Alley. During the interval
between the opera and the ballet, an acquaintance took his station by
him and saluted him:

"Come round," said Matthews, "come round."

"Why should I come round?" said the other; "you have only to turn
your head--I am close by you."

"That is exactly what I cannot do," said Matthews; "don't you see
the state I am in?"

pointing to his buckram shirt collar and inflexible cravat,--and there
he stood with his head always in the same perpendicular position
during the whole spectacle.

One evening, after dining together, as we were going to the Opera, I
happened to have a spare Opera ticket (as subscriber to a box), and
presented it to Matthews.

"Now, sir," said he to Hobhouse afterwards, "this I call _courteous_
in the Abbot--another man would never have thought that I might do
better with half a guinea than throw it to a door-keeper;--but here
is a man not only asks me to dinner, but gives me a ticket for the
theatre."

These were only his oddities, for no man was more liberal, or more
honourable in all his doings and dealings, than Matthews. He gave
Hobhouse and me, before we set out for Constantinople, a most splendid
entertainment, to which we did ample justice. One of his fancies was
dining at all sorts of out-of-the-way places. Somebody popped upon him
in I know not what coffee-house in the Strand--and what do you think
was the attraction? Why, that he paid a shilling (I think) to _dine
with his hat on_. This he called his "_hat_ house," and used to boast
of the comfort of being covered at meal times.

When Sir Henry Smith [15] was expelled from Cambridge for a row with a
tradesman named "Hiron," Matthews solaced himself with shouting under
Hiron's windows every evening,

"Ah me! what perils do environ
The man who meddles with _hot Hiron_."

He was also of that band of profane scoffers who, under the auspices
of----, used to rouse Lort Mansel (late Bishop of Bristol) from his
slumbers in the lodge of Trinity; and when he appeared at the window
foaming with wrath, and crying out, "I know you, gentlemen, I know
you!" were wont to reply, "We beseech thee to hear us, good
Lort!"--"Good Lort deliver us!" (Lort was his Christian name.) As he
was very free in his speculations upon all kinds of subjects, although
by no means either dissolute or intemperate in his conduct, and as I
was no less independent, our conversation and correspondence used to
alarm our friend Hobhouse to a considerable degree.

You must be almost tired of my packets, which will have cost a mint of
postage.

Salute Gifford and all my friends.

Yours, etc.

[Footnote 1: This letter, though written twelve years later, belongs to
the Cambridge period of Byron's life. It is therefore introduced here.
(For John Murray, see [Foot]note [1] to letter to R. C. Dallas [Letter
167] of August 21, 1811.)]

[Footnote 2: Charles Skinner Matthews was known at Eton as Matthews
'major', his 'minor' being his brother Henry, the author of 'The Diary
of an Invalid', afterwards a Judge in the Supreme Court of Ceylon, who
died in 1828. They were the sons of John Matthews of Belmont,
Herefordshire, M.P. for that county (1802-6). C. S. Matthews became a
Scholar of Trinity, Cambridge; Ninth Wrangler in 1805; First Members'
Prizeman in 1807; Fellow of Downing in 1808. He was drowned in the Cam
in August, 1811. He at the time contemplated standing as Member for the
University of Cambridge. For a description of the accident, see letter
from Henry Drury to Francis Hodgson ('Life of the Rev. Francis Hodgson',
vol. i. pp. 182-185). In the note to 'Childe Harold', Canto I. stanza
xci., Byron speaks of Matthews:

"I should have ventured a verse to the memory of the late Charles
Skinner Matthews, Fellow of Downing College, Cambridge, were he not
too much above all praise of mine. His powers of mind, shown in the
attainment of greater honours, against the ablest candidates, than
those of any graduate on record at Cambridge, have sufficiently
established his fame on the spot where it was acquired; while his
softer qualities live in the recollection of friends who loved him too
well to envy his superiority."]

[Footnote 3: See page 120 [Letter 67], [Foot]note 1.]

[Footnote 4: See page 73 [Letter 31], [Foot]note 2.]

[Footnote 5: See page 163 [Letter 83], note 1 [5].]

[Footnote 6: Of this visit to Newstead, Matthews wrote the following
account to his sister:--

"London, May 22, 1809.

"My Dear----,--I must begin with giving you a few particulars of the
singular place which I have lately quitted.

Newstead Abbey is situate 136 miles from London,--four on this side
Mansfield. It is so fine a piece of antiquity, that I should think
there must be a description, and, perhaps, a picture of it in Grose.
The ancestors of its present owner came into possession of it at the
time of the dissolution of the monasteries,--but the building itself
is of a much earlier date. Though sadly fallen to decay, it is still
completely an _abbey_, and most part of it is still standing in the
same state as when it was first built. There are two tiers of
cloisters, with a variety of cells and rooms about them, which, though
not inhabited, nor in an inhabitable state, might easily be made so;
and many of the original rooms, amongst which is a fine stone hall,
are still in use. Of the abbey church only one end remains; and the
old kitchen, with a long range of apartments, is reduced to a heap of
rubbish. Leading from the abbey to the modern part of the habitation
is a noble room, seventy feet in length, and twenty-three in breadth;
but every part of the house displays neglect and decay, save those
which the present Lord has lately fitted up.

The house and gardens are entirely surrounded by a wall with
battlements. In front is a large lake, bordered here and there with
castellated buildings, the chief of which stands on an eminence at the
further extremity of it. Fancy all this surrounded with bleak and
barren hills, with scarce a tree to be seen for miles, except a
solitary clump or two, and you will have some idea of Newstead. For
the late Lord, being at enmity with his son, to whom the estate was
secured by entail, resolved, out of spite to the same, that the estate
should descend to him in as miserable a plight as he could possibly
reduce it to; for which cause, he took no care of the mansion, and
fell to lopping of every tree he could lay his hands on, so furiously,
that he reduced immense tracts of woodland country to the desolate
state I have just described. However, his son died before him, so that
all his rage was thrown away.

So much for the place, concerning which I have thrown together these
few particulars, meaning my account to be, like the place itself,
without any order or connection. But if the place itself appear rather
strange to you, the ways of the inhabitants will not appear much less
so. Ascend, then, with me the hall steps, that I may introduce you to
my Lord and his visitants. But have a care how you proceed; be mindful
to go there in broad daylight, and with your eyes about you. For,
should you make any blunder,--should you go to the right of the hall
steps, you are laid hold of by a bear; and should you go to the left,
your case is still worse, for you run full against a wolf!--Nor, when
you have attained the door, is your danger over; for the hall being
decayed, and therefore standing in need of repair, a bevy of inmates
are very probably banging at one end of it with their pistols; so that
if you enter without giving loud notice of your approach, you have
only escaped the wolf and the bear to expire by the pistol-shots of
the merry monks of Newstead.

Our party consisted of Lord Byron and four others, and was, now and
then, increased by the presence of a neighbouring parson. As for our
way of living, the order of the day was generally this:--for
breakfast we had no set hour, but each suited his own convenience,
--everything remaining on the table till the whole party had done;
though had one wished to breakfast at the early hour of ten, one would
have been rather lucky to find any of the servants up. Our average
hour of rising was one. I, who generally got up between eleven and
twelve, was always,--even when an invalid,--the first of the party,
and was esteemed a prodigy of early rising. It was frequently past two
before the breakfast party broke up. Then, for the amusements of the
morning, there was reading, fencing, single-stick, or shuttle-cock, in
the great room; practising with pistols in the hall;
walking--riding--cricket--sailing on the lake, playing with the bear,
or teasing the wolf. Between seven and eight we dined; and our evening
lasted from that time till one, two, or three in the morning. The
evening diversions may be easily conceived.

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