There was a time when you had not let so many days pass
without asking me for a letter of Lord
Byron’s: indeed the absent and the present—the right
hand and left—are both alike forgotten. I must tell you of my adventures
to-night. I set out stark mad in white satin, as Tilburina did, to see Don
Juan seized by the Italian; and scarce was my dear fatal name
pronounced, “Lady Caroline Lamb,” when some
jocose footman said, “Sooner Lady Caroline Wolf.” At this too just
criticism several warm defenders sallied forth amongst the same precious herd;
whilst they were all fighting, I was very soon kidnapped by two rack-chairmen,
who insisted on carrying me each into his respective chair, I being all the
time vainly desirous of getting in and not out of the Opera House. It so
chanced that I was very fine, having dined out in diamonds and feathers. When I
therefore got safe up with a crowd of plumed attendants, my unfortunate dog,
that long-cared-for dog, covered with mud like Lord Something’s rat,
appeared entering the vestibule. At this sight soldiers and servants shouted
forth “A fox!” and began hissing it down. Judge of my situation. I
was either obliged to give up this dear shabby cur, who had followed my
carriage and me, or own a friend in such disguise that few had dared do so. The
latter was however my choice, and being much too frightened and late, after all
these adventures, I turned back to find my carriage almost carried away by
Irish boys and drunken chairmen, one of whom, to the indignation of the rest,
constantly vociferated, “This is my lady.”—“Your lady,
d——n you.”—“Yes, my lady,”—and sure
| MRS. GRAHAM’S OPINION OF BYRON. | 381 |
