“I am too proud of being your friend to care with whom I am linked in your estimation, and, God knows, I want friends more at this time than at any other.  I am ‘taking care of myself’ to no great purpose.  If you knew my situation in every point of view you would excuse apparent and unintentional neglect.  I shall leave town, I think; but do not you leave it without seeing me.  I wish you, from my soul, every happiness you can wish yourself; and I think you have taken the road to secure it.  Peace be with you!  I fear she has abandoned me.

     “Ever,” &c.

* * * * *

     “May 20. 1812.

     “On Monday, after sitting up all night, I saw Bellingham launched
     into eternity[48], and at three the same day I saw * * * launched
     into the country.

“I believe, in the beginning of June, I shall be down for a few days in Notts.  If so, I shall beat you up ‘en passant’ with Hobhouse, who is endeavouring, like you and every body else, to keep me out of scrapes.

“I meant to have written you a long letter, but I find I cannot.  If any thing remarkable occurs, you will hear it from me—­if good; if bad, there are plenty to tell it.  In the mean time, do you be happy.

     “Ever yours, &c.

     “P.S.—­My best wishes and respects to Mrs. * *;—­she is beautiful. 
     I may say so even to you, for I never was more struck with a
     countenance.”

[Footnote 48:  He had taken a window opposite for the purpose, and was accompanied on the occasion by his old schoolfellows, Mr. Bailey and Mr. John Madocks.  They went together from some assembly, and, on their arriving at the spot, about three o’clock in the morning, not finding the house that was to receive them open, Mr. Madocks undertook to rouse the inmates, while Lord Byron and Mr. Bailey sauntered, arm in arm, up the street.  During this interval, rather a painful scene occurred.  Seeing an unfortunate woman lying on the steps of a door, Lord Byron, with some expression of compassion, offered her a few shillings:  but, instead of accepting them, she violently pushed away his hand, and, starting up with a yell of laughter, began to mimic the lameness of his gait.  He did not utter a word; but “I could feel,” said Mr. Bailey, “his arm trembling within mine, as we left her.”

I may take this opportunity of mentioning another anecdote connected with his lameness.  In coming out, one night, from a ball, with Mr. Rogers, as they were on their way to their carriage, one of the link-boys ran on before Lord Byron, crying, “This way, my Lord.”—­“He seems to know you,” said Mr. Rogers.—­“Know me!” answered Lord Byron, with some degree of bitterness in his tone—­“every one knows me,—­I am deformed.”]

* * * * *