When money came, Mrs. Byron’s first move was to take the lad to Nottingham and place him in charge of a surgical quack, who proposed, for a price, to make the lame foot just as good as the other, if not better.  To this effect wooden clamps were placed on the foot and screwed down by thumbscrews, causing a torture that would have been unbearable to many.

No benefit was experienced from the treatment, although it was continued by another physician at London soon after.  A schoolfellow of Byron’s visited him in his room when his foot was encased in a wooden compress.  The visitor noted the white face, and the beads of anguish on the boy’s forehead, and at last said, “I know you are suffering awfully!”

“You will never hear me say so,” was the grim reply.

The emphasis placed on Byron’s lameness has been altogether overdone.  In fact, as he grew to manhood, it was nothing more than a stiffness that would never have been noticed in a drawing-room.  We have this on the testimony of the Countess Guiccioli, Lady Blessington and others.  Byron himself made the mistake of referring to it several times in his verse, and doubtless all the torture he had suffered through ill-considered medical counsel, and his mother’s taunts, caused the matter to take a place in his sensitive mind quite out of its due proportion.  Sir Walter Scott was lame, too, but whoever heard of his discussing it, either by word of mouth or in print?

Of Byron’s life at Harrow we have many tales as to his defending his juniors, volunteering to take punishment for them—­and of lessons unlearned.  He could not be driven nor forced, and pedagogics a hundred years ago, it seemed, was largely a science of coercion.  Mary Gray, a nurse and early teacher of Byron’s, has told us that kindness was the unfailing touchstone with this boy; no other plan would work.  But Harrow knew nothing of Froebel methods, and does not yet.

* * * * *

Byron’s first genuine love-affair occurred when he was sixteen.  The object of this affection, as all the world knows, was Miss Chaworth, whose estate adjoined Newstead.  The lady was two years older than Byron, and being of a lively nature found a pleasant diversion in leading the youth a merry chase.  So severe was his attack that he was alternately oppressed by chills of fear and fevers of ecstasy.  He lost appetite, and the family began to fear for his sanity.  Such a love must find expression some way, and so the daily stealthy notes to the young woman took the form of rhyme.  The lovesick youth was revealing considerable facility in this way.  It pleased him, and did the buxom young woman no harm.

Beyond the mere prettiness and pinky whiteness of a healthy country lass, Miss Chaworth evidently had no beauties of character, save those conjured forth from the inner consciousness of the poet—­a not wholly original condition.

Byron loved the Ideal.  And this love-affair with Miss Chaworth is only valuable as showing the evolution of imagination in the poet.  The woman hadn’t the slightest idea that she was giving wings to a soul—­to her the affair was simply funny.