"C. talks of lecturing next spring; his last lectures were eminently successful. Moore thought of it, but gave it up,--I don't know why. * * had been prating _dignity_ to him, and such stuff; as if a man disgraced himself by instructing and pleasing at the same time. "Introduced to Marquis Buckingham--saw Lord Gower--he is going to Holland; Sir J. and Lady Mackintosh and Homer, G. Lamb, with I know not how many (R. Wellesley, one--a clever man) grouped about the room. Little Henry Fox, a very fine boy, and very promising in mind and manner,--he went away to bed, before I had time to talk to him. I am sure I had rather hear him than all the _savans_. "Monday, Dec. 6. "Murray tells me that C----r asked him why the thing was called the _Bride_ of Abydos? It is a cursed awkward question, being unanswerable. _She_ is not a _bride_, only about to be one; but for, &c. &c. &c. "I don't wonder at his finding out the _Bull_; but the detection * * * is too late to do any good. I was a great fool to make it, and am ashamed of not being an Irishman. "C----l last night seemed a little nettled at something or other--I know not what. We were standing in the ante-saloon, when Lord H. brought out of the other room a vessel of some composition similar to that which is used in Catholic churches, and, seeing us, he exclaimed, 'Here is some _incense_ for you.' C----l answered--'Carry it to Lord Byron, _he is used to it_.' "Now, this comes of 'bearing no brother near the throne.' I, who have no throne, nor wish to have one _now_, whatever I may have done, am at perfect peace with all the poetical fraternity: or, at least, if I dislike any, it is not _poetically_, but _personally_. Surely the field of thought is infinite; what does it signify who is before or behind in a race where there is no _goal_? The temple of fame is like that of the Persians, the universe; our altar, the tops of mountains. I should be equally content with Mount Caucasus, or Mount Anything; and those who like it, may have Mount Blanc or Chimborazo, without my envy of their elevation. "I think I may _now_ speak thus; for I have just published a poem, and am quite ignorant whether it is _likely_ to be _liked_ or not. I have hitherto heard little in its commendation, and no one can _downright_ abuse it to one's face, except in print. It can't be good, or I should not have stumbled over the threshold, and blundered in my very title. But I began it with my heart full of * * *, and my head of oriental_ities_ (I can't call them _isms_), and wrote on rapidly. "This journal is a relief. When I am tired--as I generally am--out comes this, and down goes every thing. But I can't read it over; and God knows what contradictions it may contain. If I am sincere with myself (but I fear one lies more to one's self than to any one else), every page should confute, refute, and utterly abjure its _predecessor_.