39 — To Hargreaves Hanson

Dear Hargreaves

, — Return my Thanks to your father for the Expedition he has used in filling my Cellar. He deserves commendation for the Attention he paid to my Request. The Time of "Oateater's" Journey approaches; I presume he means to repair his Neglect by Punctuality in this Respect. However, no Trinity Ale will be forthcoming, till I have broached the promised Falernum.

College improves in every thing but Learning. Nobody here seems to look into an Author, ancient or modern, if they can avoid it. The Muses, poor Devils, are totally neglected, except by a few Musty old Sophs and Fellows, who, however agreeable they may be to Minerva, are perfect Antidotes to the Graces. Even I (great as is my inclination for Knowledge) am carried away by the Tide, having only supped at Home twice since I saw your father, and have more engagements on my Hands for a week to come. Still my Tutor and I go on extremely well and for the first three weeks of my life I have not involved myself in any Scrape of Consequence.

I have News for you which I bear with Christian Resignation and without any violent Transports of Grief.

My Mother (whose diabolical Temper you well know) has taken it into her Sagacious Head to quarrel with me her dutiful Son.

She has such a Devil of a Disposition, that she cannot be quiet, though there are fourscore miles between us, which I wish were lengthened to 400. The Cause too frivolous to require taking up your time to read or mine to write. At last in answer to a Furious Epistle I returned a Sarcastick Answer, which so incensed the Amiable Dowager that my Letter was sent back without her deigning a Line in the cover. When I next see you, you shall behold her Letter and my Answer, which will amuse you as they both contain fiery Philippics. I must request you will write immediately, that I may be informed when my Servant shall convey "Oateater" from London; the 20th was the appointed; but I wish to hear further from your father. I hope all the family are in a convalescent State. I shall see you at Christmas (if I live) as I propose passing the Vacation, which is only a Month, in London.

Believe me, Mr. Terry, your's Truly,

Byron.