The following description of what he felt after leaving Harrow, when he encountered in the world any of his old school-fellows, falls far short of the scene which actually occurred but a few years before his death in Italy,—­when, on meeting with his friend, Lord Clare, after a long separation, he was affected almost to tears by the recollections which rushed on him.

    “If chance some well remember’d face,
    Some old companion of my early race,
    Advance to claim his friend with honest joy,
    My eyes, my heart proclaim’d me yet a boy;
    The glittering scene, the fluttering groups around,
    Were all forgotten when my friend was found.”

It will be seen, by the extracts from his memorandum-book, which I have given, that Mr. Peel was one of his contemporaries at Harrow; and the following interesting anecdote of an occurrence in which both were concerned, has been related to me by a friend of the latter gentleman, in whose words I shall endeavour as nearly as possible to give it.

While Lord Byron and Mr. Peel were at Harrow together, a tyrant, some few years older, whose name was ——­, claimed a right to fag little Peel, which claim (whether rightly or wrongly I know not) Peel resisted.  His resistance, however, was in vain:—­ ——­ not only subdued him, but determined also to punish the refractory slave; and proceeded forthwith to put this determination in practice, by inflicting a kind of bastinado on the inner fleshy side of the boy’s arm, which, during the operation, was twisted round with some degree of technical skill, to render the pain more acute.  While the stripes were succeeding each other, and poor Peel writhing under them, Byron saw and felt for the misery of his friend; and although he knew that he was not strong enough to fight ——­ with any hope of success, and that it was dangerous even to approach him, he advanced to the scene of action, and with a blush of rage, tears in his eyes, and a voice trembling between terror and indignation, asked very humbly if ——­ would be pleased to tell him “how many stripes he meant to inflict?” —­“Why,” returned the executioner, “you little rascal, what is that to you?”—­“Because, if you please,” said Byron, holding out his arm, “I would take half!”

There is a mixture of simplicity and magnanimity in this little trait which is truly heroic; and however we may smile at the friendships of boys, it is but rarely that the friendship of manhood is capable of any thing half so generous.

Among his school favourites a great number, it may be observed, were nobles or of noble family—­Lords Clare and Delaware, the Duke of Dorset and young Wingfield—­and that their rank may have had some share in first attracting his regard to them, might appear from a circumstance mentioned to me by one of his school-fellows, who, being monitor one day, had put Lord Delaware on his list for punishment.  Byron, hearing of this, came up to him, and said, “Wildman, I find you’ve