“C. talks of lecturing next spring; his last lectures were eminently successful.  Moore thought of it, but gave it up,—­I don’t know why. * * had been prating dignity to him, and such stuff; as if a man disgraced himself by instructing and pleasing at the same time.

“Introduced to Marquis Buckingham—­saw Lord Gower—­he is going to Holland; Sir J. and Lady Mackintosh and Homer, G. Lamb, with I know not how many (R.  Wellesley, one—­a clever man) grouped about the room.  Little Henry Fox, a very fine boy, and very promising in mind and manner,—­he went away to bed, before I had time to talk to him.  I am sure I had rather hear him than all the savans.

“Monday, Dec. 6.

“Murray tells me that C——­r asked him why the thing was called the Bride of Abydos?  It is a cursed awkward question, being unanswerable. She is not a bride, only about to be one; but for, &c. &c. &c.

“I don’t wonder at his finding out the Bull; but the detection * * * is too late to do any good.  I was a great fool to make it, and am ashamed of not being an Irishman.

“C——­l last night seemed a little nettled at something or other—­I know not what.  We were standing in the ante-saloon, when Lord H. brought out of the other room a vessel of some composition similar to that which is used in Catholic churches, and, seeing us, he exclaimed, ’Here is some incense for you.’  C——­l answered—­’Carry it to Lord Byron, he is used to it.’

“Now, this comes of ‘bearing no brother near the throne.’  I, who have no throne, nor wish to have one now, whatever I may have done, am at perfect peace with all the poetical fraternity:  or, at least, if I dislike any, it is not poetically, but personally.  Surely the field of thought is infinite; what does it signify who is before or behind in a race where there is no goal?  The temple of fame is like that of the Persians, the universe; our altar, the tops of mountains.  I should be equally content with Mount Caucasus, or Mount Anything; and those who like it, may have Mount Blanc or Chimborazo, without my envy of their elevation.

“I think I may now speak thus; for I have just published a poem, and am quite ignorant whether it is likely to be liked or not.  I have hitherto heard little in its commendation, and no one can downright abuse it to one’s face, except in print.  It can’t be good, or I should not have stumbled over the threshold, and blundered in my very title.  But I began it with my heart full of * * *, and my head of oriental_ities_ (I can’t call them isms), and wrote on rapidly.

“This journal is a relief.  When I am tired—­as I generally am—­out comes this, and down goes every thing.  But I can’t read it over; and God knows what contradictions it may contain.  If I am sincere with myself (but I fear one lies more to one’s self than to any one else), every page should confute, refute, and utterly abjure its predecessor.