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mortified; the balloon rose, diminished, vanished into night; no one could guess what might be its fate, and the poor dear one danced the whole evening to shake off her melancholy.

I am glad I am come here. I entertained many ideas of it, which I have entirely given up, or very much indeed altered. Never was there a scene that could furnish more to the weeping or the grinning philosopher; they might well agree that human affairs were a sad joke. I see it everywhere, and in every thing. The wheel has run a complete round; only changed some spokes and a few "felloes," very little for the better, but the axle certainly has not rusted-nor do I see any likelihood of its rusting. At present all is quiet except the tongue, thanks to those invaluable protectors of peace the army!! At Tivoli last night we had at least a hundred soldiers, with fixed bayonets. The consul now lives at St. Cloud, in a magnificence, solitary, but still fitting his marvellous fortune. He is very rarely seen-he travels by night -is indefatigable-has no favourite, &c.

As to the little affairs at the Priory, I can scarcely condescend, after a walk in the Louvre, amid the spirit of those arts which were inspired by freedom, and have been transmitted to power, to think of so poor a subject. I hope to get a letter from you in London, at Osborne's, Adelphi. Many of the Irish are here,-not of consequence to be in danger: I have merely heard of them. Yesterday I met Arthur O'Connor in the street, with Lord and Lady Oxford. Her ladyship very kindly pressed me to dine; but I was engaged. I had bargained for a cabriolet, to go and see my

*Mr. Curran's country-seat, near Dublin.

poor gossip. Set out at two: at the end of five miles found I was totally misdirected-returned to St. Denys got a miserable dinner, and was fleeced as usual. I had some vengeance of the rascal, however, by deploring the misery of a country where a stranger had nothing for his dinner but a bill. You feel a mistake in chronology in the two "yesterdays;" but, in fact, part of this was written yesterday, and the latter part now. I need not desire you to bid any one remember me; but tell them I remember them.-Say how Eliza does. Tell Amelia and Sarah I do not forget them. God bless you all. J. P. C.

Miss H. More to one of her sisters.

London, 1775.

I HAD yesterday the pleasure of dining in Hillstreet, Berkeley-square, at a certain Mrs. Montagu's, a name not totally obscure. The party consisted of herself, Mrs. Carter, Dr. Johnson, Solander and Matty, Mrs. Boscawen, Miss Reynolds, and Sir Joshua, (the idol of every company,) some other persons of high rank and less wit, and your humble servant a party that would not have disgraced the table of Lelius or of Atticus. I felt myself a worm, the more a worm for the consequence which was given me by mixing me with such a society; but, as I told Mrs. Boscawen, and with great truth, I had an opportunity of making an experiment of my heart, by which I learned that I was not en vious, for I certainly did not repine at being the meanest person in company.

Mrs. Montagu received me with the most encouraging kindness; she is not only the finest genius, but the finest lady I ever saw: she lives in

the highest style of magnificence: her apartments and table are in the most splendid taste; but what baubles are these when speaking of a Montagu! Her form (for she has no body) is delicate, even to fragility; her countenance the most animated in the world; the sprightly vivacity of fifteen, with the judgment and experience of a Nestor. But I fear she is hastening to decay very fast: her spirits are so active, that they must soon wear out the little frail receptacle that holds them. Mrs. Carter has in her person a great deal of what the gentlemen mean when they say such a one is a "poetical lady." However, independently of her great talents and learning, I like her much; she has affability, kindness, and goodness; and I honour her heart even more than her talents. But I do not like one of them better than Mrs. Boscawen: she is at once polite, learned, judicious, and humble; and Mrs. Palk tells me her letters are not thought inferior to Mrs. Montagu's. She regretted (so did I) that so many suns could not possibly shine at one time; but we are to have a smaller party, where, from fewer luminaries, there may emanate a clearer, steadier, and more beneficial light. Dr. Johnson asked me how I liked the new tragedy of Braganza. I was afraid to speak before them all, as I knew a diversity of opinion prevailed among the company. However, as I thought it a less evil to dissent from the opinion of a fellow-creature than to tell a falsity, I ventured to give my sentiments; and was satisfied with Johnson's answering, "You are right, madam."

LETTERS OF BUSINESS.

DEAR SIR,

Lord Byron to R. C. Dallas, Esq.

8, St. James's-street, October 31, 1811.

I HAVE already taken up so much of your time, that there needs no excuse on your part, but a great many on mine, for the present interruption. I have altered the passages according to your wish. With this note I send a few stanzas on a subject which has lately occupied much of my thoughts. They refer to the death of one to whose name you are a stranger, and, consequently, cannot be interested. I mean them to complete the present volume. They relate to the same person whom I have mentioned in canto second, and at the conclusion of the poem.

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I by no means intend to identify myself with Harold, but to deny all connexion with him. If, in parts, I may be thought to have drawn from myself, believe me, it is but in parts, and I shall not own even to that. As to the "Monastic dome,' &c., I thought those circumstances would suit him as well as any other, and I could describe what I had seen better than I could invent. I would not be such a fellow as I have made my hero for the world. Yours ever,

BYRON.

R. C. Dallas, Esq. to Lord Byron.

MY DEAR LORD,

December 14, 1811.

You sent but a few notes for the first canto: there are a good many for the second. The only

liberty I took with them was, if you will allow me to use the expression, to dove-tail two of them, which, though connected in the sense, and relative to the reference in the poem, were disunited as they stood in your MS. I have omitted the passage respecting the Portuguese, which fell with the alteration you made in the stanzas relative to Cintra, and the insertion of which would overturn what your kindness had allowed me to obtain from you on that point. I have no objection to your politics, my dear lord; as, in the first place, I do not much give my mind to politics, and, in the next, I cannot but have observed that you view politics, as well as some other subjects, through the optics of philosophy. But the note, or rather passage I allude to, is so discouraging to the cause of our country, that it could not fail to damp the ardour of your readers. Let me entreat you not to recall the sacrifice of it; at least, let it not appear in this volume, in which I am more anxious than I can express for your fame, both as a poet and as a philosopher. Except this, in which I thought myself warranted, I have not interfered with the subjects of the notes: yes, the word "fiction" I turned as you have seen, conceiving it to have been no fiction to YOUNG. But, when I did it, I determined not to send it to the press till it had met your eye. Indeed, you know that, even when a single word has struck me as better changed, my way has been to state my thought to you.

The Pilgrimage is concluded, and the notes to canto second, and the shorter poems are all placed in order. I am making the references, and to-day they will be ready for the printer. As there is not the slightest alteration in any of these notes, I shall not think it necessary to send them to you

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