A strange idea next took hold of the misanthrope, of the poet whose inspirations had run dry, of the man of many dissipations: he would marry and settle down. He had exhausted every pleasure youth could give; he aspired to something fresh, no matter even if it meant misery. This unknown and painful experience Lady Byron had in store for him. But the strangest thing was that he wished to marry for the sake of getting married, and not for the sake of the woman. He, who had once betted fifty pounds with Mr. Hay that he would never marry, was in such a hurry to marry that he did not mind who the lady was. He discussed his intention with Lady Melbourne, and Lady Melbourne proposed a young lady whom Byron did not know; Byron suggested Miss Milbanke. "You are wrong," said Lady Melbourne, "and for two reasons: first, because you have need of money and Miss Milbanke could only bring you ten thousand pounds; and in the second place, because you want a wife who will admire you, and Miss Milbanke admires no one but herself." "Well, then," said Lord Byron, "what is the name of your young lady?" Lady Melbourne mentioned her name, and Byron at once wrote to her parents, who sent him a refusal. "Good!" said Byron. "You now see that Miss Milbanke is to be my wife." And he sat down at once and wrote to Miss Milbanke to make known his wishes to her. But Lady Melbourne did not mean matters to end thus; she snatched the letter out of Byron's hands when he had finished it and took it to the window to read, while Byron remained quietly in his seat. When she had read it, she said, "Well, I must admit this is a very pretty letter; it is a pity it should not go." "Then give it me," said Byron, "and I will seal it and send it off." Lady Melbourne gave the letter back to Byron, and he sealed it and saw that it reached its address. He was married on 2 January 1815, from Sir Ralph Milbanke's house. He sent the fifty pounds to Mr. Hay the same day, without waiting till he was asked for the money. Exactly a month later, he wrote:-- _"Feb._ 2, 1815 "The treacle-moon is over, and I am awake, and find myself married. Swift says, 'No _wise_ man ever married'; but, for a fool, I think it is the most ambrosial of all possible future states."