I mention this incident not in the spirit of detraction; for in the paragraph there was nothing of puff, though certainly something of oddity—­but as a tint of character, indicative of the appetite for distinction by which, about this period, he became so powerfully incited, that at last it grew into a diseased crave, and to such a degree, that were the figure allowable, it might be said, the mouth being incapable of supplying adequate means to appease it—­every pore became another mouth greedy of nourishment.  I am, however, hastening on too fast.  Lord Byron was, at that time, far indeed from being ruled by any such inordinate passion; the fears, the timidity, and bashfulness of young desire still clung to him, and he was throbbing with doubt if he should be found worthy of the high prize for which he was about to offer himself a candidate.  The course he adopted on the occasion, whether dictated by management, or the effect of accident, was, however, well calculated to attract attention to his debut as a public man.

When Childe Harold was ready for publication, he determined to make his first appearance as an orator in the House of Lords:  the occasion was judiciously chosen, being a debate on the Nottingham frame-breaking bill; a subject on which it was natural to suppose he possessed some local knowledge that might bear upon a question directed so exclusively against transactions in his own county.  He prepared himself as the best orators do in their first essays, not only by composing, but writing down, the whole of his speech beforehand.  The reception he met with was flattering; he was complimented warmly by some of the speakers on his own side; but it must be confessed that his debut was more showy than promising.  It lacked weight in metal, as was observed at the time, and the mode of delivery was more like a schoolboy’s recital than a masculine grapple with an argument.  It was, moreover, full of rhetorical exaggerations, and disfigured with conceits.  Still it scintillated with talent, and justified the opinion that he was an extraordinary young man, probably destined to distinction, though he might not be a statesman.

Mr Dallas gives a lively account of his elation on the occasion.  “When he left the great chamber,” says that gentleman, “I went and met him in the passage; he was glowing with success, and much agitated.  I had an umbrella in my right hand, not expecting that he would put out his hand to me; in my haste to take it when offered, I had advanced my left hand:  ‘What!’ said he, ’give your friend your left hand upon such an occasion?’ I showed the cause, and immediately changing the umbrella to the other, I gave him my right hand, which he shook and pressed warmly.  He was greatly elated, and repeated some of the compliments which had been paid him, and mentioned one or two of the peers who had desired to be introduced to him.  He concluded by saying, that he had, by his speech, given me the best advertisement for Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.”