66 "I am sorry," said he, "not to have a copy of my Memoirs to shew you; I gave "them to Moore, or rather to Moore's lit"tle boy, at Venice. I remember saying, "Here are 20007. for you, my young friend.' "I made one reservation in the gift,—that 66 66 they were not to be published till after my death. "I have not the least objection to their be"ing circulated; in fact they have been read "by some of mine, and several of Moore's "friends and acquaintances; among others, they were lent to Lady Burghersh. On re66 turning the MS. her Ladyship told Moore "that she had transcribed the whole work. "This was un peu fort, and he suggested the 66 propriety of her destroying the copy. She "did so, by putting it into the fire in his pre 66 sence. Ever since this happened, Douglas "Kinnaird has been recommending me to "resume possession of the MS., thinking to "frighten me by saying that a spurious or "a real copy, surreptitiously obtained, may 66 go forth to the world. I am quite indiffe"rent about the world knowing all that they "contain. There are very few licentious ad"ventures of my own, or scandalous anec"dotes that will affect others, in the book. "It is taken up from my earliest recollec"tions, almost from childhood,-very inco"herent, written in a very loose and fa"miliar style. The second part will prove a 6 good lesson to young men; for it treats of "the irregular life I led at one period, and "the fatal consequences of dissipation. There 68 are few parts that may not, and none that "will not, be read by women." Another time he said : "A very full account of my marriage and separation is contained in my Memoirs. "After they were completed, I wrote to 66 Lady Byron, proposing to send them for "her inspection, in order that any mistate"ments or inaccuracy (if any such existed, "which I was not aware of,) might be pointed out and corrected. In her answer "she declined the offer, without assigning 66 any reason; but desiring, if not on her ac 66 66 count, for the sake of her daughter, that they might never appear, and finishing "with a threat. My reply was the severest 6. thing I ever wrote, and contained two quo tations, one from Shakspeare, and another "from Dante.* I told her that she knew all * I could not retain them. "I had written was incontrovertible truth, "and that she did not wish to sanction the "truth. I ended by saying, that she might 66 depend on their being published. It was "not till after this correspondence that I "made Moore the depositary of the MS. 66 "The first time of my seeing Miss Mil“banke was at Lady -'s. It was a fatal day; and I remember that in going upstairs “I stumbled, and remarked to Moore, who "accompanied me, that it was a bad omen. "I ought to have taken the warning. On "entering the room I observed a young lady, "more simply dressed than the rest of the 66 assembly, sitting alone upon a sofa. I took "her for a humble companion, and asked if "I was right in my conjecture? She is a 66 great heiress,' said he in a whisper that "became lower as he proceeded; 'you had "better marry her, and repair the old place, "Newstead.' "There was something piquant, and what "we term pretty, in Miss Milbanke. Her "features were small and feminine, though "not regular. She had the fairest skin ima 66 66 ginable. Her figure was perfect for her height, and there was a simplicity, a retired "modesty about her, which was very cha"racteristic, and formed a happy contrast to "the cold artificial formality, and studied "stiffness, which is called fashion. She in"terested me exceedingly. It is unnecessary "to detail the progress of our acquaintance. "I became daily more attached to her, and "it ended in my making her a proposal that was rejected. Her refusal was couched in "terms that could not offend me. I was be"sides persuaded that, in declining my offer, |