Though so remarkably shy, when he first went to Southwell, this reserve, as he grew more acquainted with the young people of the place, wore off; till, at length, he became a frequenter of their assemblies and dinner-parties, and even felt mortified if he heard of a rout to which he was not invited. His horror, however, at new faces still continued; and if, while at Mrs. Pigot's, he saw strangers approaching the house, he would instantly jump out of the window to avoid them. This natural shyness concurred with no small degree of pride to keep him aloof from the acquaintance of the gentlemen in the neighbourhood, whose visits, in more than one instance, he left unreturned;--some under the plea that their ladies had not visited his mother; others, because they had neglected to pay him this compliment sooner. The true reason, however, of the haughty distance, at which, both now and afterwards, he stood apart from his more opulent neighbours, is to be found in his mortifying consciousness of the inadequacy of his own means to his rank, and the proud dread of being made to feel this inferiority by persons to whom, in every other respect, he knew himself superior. His friend, Mr. Becher, frequently expostulated with him on this unsociableness; and to his remonstrances, on one occasion, Lord Byron returned a poetical answer, so remarkably prefiguring the splendid burst, with which his own volcanic genius opened upon the world, that as the volume containing the verses is in very few hands, I cannot resist the temptation of giving a few extracts here:-- "Dear Becher, you tell me to mix with mankind,-- I cannot deny such a precept is wise; But retirement accords with the tone of my mind, And I will not descend to a world I despise. "Did the Senate or Camp my exertions require, Ambition might prompt me at once to go forth; And, when infancy's years of probation expire, Perchance, I may strive to distinguish my birth. _"The fire, in the cavern of Ætna concealed, Still mantles unseen, in its secret recess;-- At length, in a volume terrific revealed, No torrent can quench it, no bounds can repress. "Oh thus, the desire in my bosom for fame Bids me live but to hope for Posterity's praise; Could I soar, with the Phoenix, on pinions of flame, With him I would wish to expire in the blaze._ "For the life of a Fox, of a Chatham the death, What censure, what danger, what woe would I brave? Their lives did not end when they yielded their breath,-- Their glory illumines the gloom of the grave!"