81 — To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot
Trinity College, Cambridge, October 26, 1807.
My Dear Elizabeth, — Fatigued with sitting up till four in the morning for the last two days at hazard, I take up my pen to inquire how your highness and the rest of my female acquaintance at the seat of archiepiscopal grandeur go on. I know I deserve a scolding for my negligence in not writing more frequently; but racing up and down the country for these last three months, how was it possible to fulfil the duties of a correspondent? Fixed at last for six weeks, I write, as
thin
as ever (not having gained an ounce since my reduction), and rather in better humour; — but, after all, Southwell was a detestable residence. Thank St. Dominica, I have done with it: I have been twice within eight miles of it, but could not prevail on myself to
suffocate
in its heavy atmosphere. This place is wretched enough — a villainous chaos of din and drunkenness, nothing but hazard and burgundy, hunting, mathematics, and Newmarket, riot and racing. Yet it is a paradise compared with the eternal dulness of Southwell. Oh! the misery of doing nothing but make
love, enemies
, and
verses
.
Next
January (but this is
entre nous only
, and pray let it be so, or my maternal persecutor will be throwing her tomahawk at any of my curious projects,) I am going to
sea
for four or five months, with my cousin Captain Bettesworth
, who commands the
Tartar
, the finest frigate in the navy. I have seen most scenes, and wish to look at a naval life. We are going probably to the Mediterranean, or to the West Indies, or — to the devil; and if there is a possibility of taking me to the latter, Bettesworth will do it; for he has received four and twenty wounds in different places, and at this moment possesses a letter from the late Lord Nelson, stating Bettesworth as the only officer in the navy who had more wounds than himself.
I
have got a new friend, the finest in the world, a
tame bear
. When I brought him here, they asked me what I meant to do with him, and my reply was, "he should
sit for a fellowship.
" Sherard will explain the meaning of the sentence, if it is ambiguous. This answer delighted them not. We have several parties here, and this evening a large assortment of jockeys, gamblers, boxers, authors, parsons, and poets, sup with me, — a precious mixture, but they go on well together; and for me, I am a
spice
of every thing except a jockey; by the bye, I was dismounted again the other day.
Thank your brother in my name for his treatise.
I
have written 214 pages of a novel — one poem of 380 lines
, to be published (without my name) in a few weeks, with notes, — 560 lines of Bosworth Field, and 250 lines of another poem in rhyme, besides half a dozen smaller pieces. The poem to be published is a Satire.
Apropos
, I have been praised to the skies in the
Critical Review
, and abused greatly in another publication
. So much the better, they tell me, for the sale of the book: it keeps up controversy, and prevents it being forgotten. Besides, the first men of all ages have had their share, nor do the humblest escape; — so I bear it like a philosopher. It is odd two opposite critiques came out on the same day, and out of five pages of abuse, my censor only quotes
two lines
from different poems, in support of his opinion. Now, the proper way to
cut up
, is to quote long passages, and make them appear absurd, because simple allegation is no proof. On the other hand, there are seven pages of praise, and more than
my modesty
will allow said on the subject. Adieu.
P.S. — Write, write, write!!!
Footnote 1:
George Edmund Byron Bettesworth (1780-1808), as lieutenant of the
Centaur
, was wounded (1804) in the capture of the
Curieux
. In command of the latter vessel he captured the
Dame Ernouf
(1805), and was again wounded. He was made a post-captain in the latter year, when he brought home despatches from Nelson at Antigua, announcing Villeneuve's return to Europe. He was killed off Bergen in 1808, while in command of the
Tartar
. Captain Bettesworth, whose father assumed the name of Bettesworth in addition to that of Trevanion, married, in 1807, Lady Alethea Grey, daughter of Earl Grey. Through his grandmother, Sophia Trevanion, Byron was Captain Bettesworth's cousin.
Footnote 2:
See
Poems
, vol. i. p. 406.
Footnote 3:
This poem, printed in book form, but not published, under the title of
British Bards
, is the foundation of
English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers
. The MS. is in the possession of Mr. Murray.
Footnote 4:
For September, 1807. In noticing the Elegy on Newstead Abbey, the writer says, "We could not but hail, with something of prophetic rapture, the hope conveyed in the closing stanza:—
"'Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine,
Thee to irradiate with meridian ray.'"
Footnote 5:
The first number of
The Satirist: A Monthly Meteor
(October, 1807).
