You have not answered some six letters of mine. This, therefore, is my penultimate. I will write to you once more, but, after that—I swear by all the saints—I am silent and supercilious. I have met Curran at Holland-house—he beats every body;—his imagination is beyond human, and his humour (it is difficult to define what is wit) perfect. Then he has fifty faces, and twice as many voices, when he mimics;—I never met his equal. Now, were I a woman, and eke a virgin, that is the man I should make my Scamander. He is quite fascinating. Remember, I have met him but once; and you, who have known him long, may probably deduct from my panegyric. I almost fear to meet him again, lest the impression should be lowered. He talked a great deal about you—a theme never tiresome to me, nor any body else that I know. What a variety of expression he conjures into that naturally not very fine countenance of his! He absolutely changes it entirely. I have done—for I can’t describe him, and you know him. On Sunday I return to * *, where I shall not be far from you. Perhaps I shall hear from you in the mean time. Good night.
“Saturday morn.—Your letter has cancelled all my anxieties: I did not suspect you in earnest. Modest again! Because I don’t do a very shabby thing, it seems, I ‘don’t fear your competition.’ If it were reduced to an alternative of preference, I should dread you, as much as Satan does Michael. But is there not room enough in our respective regions? Go on—it will soon be my turn to forgive. Today I dine with Mackintosh and Mrs. Stale—as John Bull may be pleased to denominate Corinne—whom I saw last night, at Covent-garden, yawning over the humour of Falstaff.
“The reputation of ‘gloom,’ if one’s
friends are not included in the reputants, is of great service;
as it saves one from a legion of impertinents, in the shape of common-place
acquaintance. But thou know’st I can be a right merry and conceited fellow, and
rarely ‘larmoyant.’
| A. D. 1813. | LIFE OF LORD BYRON. | 431 |
“I do ‘blush’ very often, if I may believe Ladies H. and M.—but luckily, at present, no one sees me. Adieu.”
