verses of his own which he remembered." He then, with a pencil, wrote
those lines, beginning "In thee I fondly hoped to clasp,"[50] which
were printed in his first unpublished volume, but are not contained in
the editions that followed. He also repeated to her the verses I have
already referred to, "When in the hall my father's voice," so
remarkable for the anticipations of his future fame that glimmer
through them.

From this moment the desire of appearing in print took entire
possession of him;--though, for the present, his ambition did not
extend its views beyond a small volume for private circulation. The
person to whom fell the honour of receiving his first manuscripts was
Ridge, the bookseller, at Newark; and while the work was printing, the
young author continued to pour fresh materials into his hands, with
the same eagerness and rapidity that marked the progress of all his
maturer works.

His return to Southwell, which he announced in the last letter we have
given was but for a very short time. In a week or two after he again
left that place, and, accompanied by his young friend Mr. Pigot, set
out for Harrowgate. The following extracts are from a letter written
by the latter gentleman, at the time to his sister.

"Harrowgate is still extremely full; Wednesday (to-day) is our
ball-night, and I meditate going into the room for an hour, although I
am by no means fond of strange faces. Lord B., you know, is even more
shy than myself; but for an hour this evening I will shake it off....
How do our theatricals proceed? Lord Byron can say _all_ his part, and
I _most_ of mine. He certainly acts it inimitably. Lord B. is now
_poetising_, and, since he has been here, has written some very pretty