LETTER 12.

TO MISS ——.

“June 11. 1807.

“Dear Queen Bess,

“Savage ought to be immortal:—­though not a thorough-bred bull-dog, he is the finest puppy I ever saw, and will answer much better; in his great and manifold kindness he has already bitten my fingers, and disturbed the gravity of old Boatswain, who is grievously discomposed.  I wish to be informed what he costs, his expenses, &c. &c., that I may indemnify Mr. G——.  My thanks are all I can give for the trouble he has taken, make a long speech, and conclude it with 1 2 3 4 5 6 7.[71] I am out of practice, so deputize you as legate,—­ambassador would not do in a matter concerning the Pope, which I presume this must, as the whole turns upon a Bull.

“Yours,

“BYRON.

“P.S.  I write in bed.”

LETTER 13.

TO MISS ——.

“Cambridge, June 30. 1807.

“‘Better late than never, Pal,’” is a saying of which you know the origin, and as it is applicable on the present occasion, you will excuse its conspicuous place in the front of my epistle.  I am almost superannuated here.  My old friends (with the exception of a very few) all departed, and I am preparing to follow them, but remain till Monday to be present at three Oratorios, two Concerts, a Fair, and a Ball.  I find I am not only thinner but taller by an inch since my last visit.  I was obliged to tell every body my name, nobody having the least recollection of my visage, or person.  Even the hero of my Cornelian (who is now sitting vis-a-vis, reading a volume of my Poetics) passed me in Trinity walks without recognising me in the least, and was thunderstruck at the alteration which had taken place in my countenance, &c. &c.  Some say I look better, others worse, but all agree I am thinner—­more I do not require.  I have lost two pounds in my weight since I left your cursed, detestable, and abhorred abode of scandal,[72] where, excepting yourself and John Becher, I care not if the whole race were consigned to the Pit of Acheron, which I would visit in person rather than contaminate my sandals with the polluted dust of Southwell. Seriously, unless obliged by the emptiness of my purse to revisit Mrs. B., you will see me no more.

“On Monday I depart for London.  I quit Cambridge with little regret, because our set are vanished, and my musical protege before mentioned has left the choir, and is stationed in a mercantile house of considerable eminence in the metropolis.  You may have heard me observe he is exactly to an hour two years younger than myself.  I found him grown considerably, and, as you will suppose,