LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
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Memoir of Francis Hodgson
Lord Byron to Francis Hodgson, 14 November 1810

Vol. 1 Contents
Chapter I.
Chapter II. 1794-1807.
Chapter III. 1807-1808.
Chapter IV. 1808.
Chapter V. 1808-1809.
Chapter VI. 1810.
Chapter VII. 1811.
Chapter VIII. 1811.
Chapter IX. 1811.
Chapter X. 1811-12.
Chapter XI. 1812.
Chapter XII. 1812-13.
Chapter XIII. 1813-14.
Vol. 2 Contents
Chapter XIV. 1815-16.
Chapter XV. 1816-18.
Chapter XVI. 1815-22.
Chapter XVII. 1820.
Chapter XVIII. 1824-27.
Chapter XIX. 1827-1830
Chapter XX. 1830-36.
Chapter XXI. 1837-40.
Chapter XXII. 1840-47.
Chapter XXIII. 1840-52.
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My dear Hodgson,1—This will arrive with an English servant whom I send homewards with some papers

1 This letter has not before been published.

of consequence. I have been journeying in different parts of Greece for these last four months, and you may expect me in England somewhere about April; but this is very dubious.
Hobhouse you have doubtless seen; he went home in August to look after his Miscellany and to arrange materials for a tour he talks of publishing. You will find him well and scribbling; that is, scribbling if well, and well if scribbling. I suppose you have a score of new works, all of which I hope to see flourishing, with a hecatomb of reviews. My works are likely to have a powerful effect with a vengeance, as I hear of divers angry people, whom it is proper I should shoot at, by way of satisfaction. Be it so: the same impulse which made ‘Otho a warrior’ will make me one also. My domestic affairs being, moreover, considerably deranged, my appetite for travelling pretty well satiated with my late peregrinations, my various hopes in this world almost extinct, and not very brilliant in the next, I trust I shall go through the process with a creditable ‘sang froid’ and not disgrace a line of cut-throat ancestors. I regret in one of your letters to hear you talk of domestic embarrassments; indeed I am at present very well calculated to sympathise with
you on that point. I suppose I must take to dram-drinking as a succedaneum for philosophy, though, as I am happily not married, I have very little occasion for either just yet. Talking of marriage puts me in mind of
Drury (who, I suppose, has a dozen children by this time, all fine, fretful brats); I will never forgive matrimony for having spoiled such an excellent bachelor.

If anybody honours my name with an inquiry, tell them of ‘my whereabouts,’ and write if you like it. I am living alone in the Franciscan Monastery with one Friar (a Capucin of course) and one Frier (a bandy-legged Turkish cook), two Albanian savages, a Tartar, and a Dragoman: my only Englishman departs with this and other letters. The day before yesterday, the Waynode (or Governor of Athens) with the Mufti of Thebes (a sort of Mussulman Bishop) supped here with the Padre of the Convent, and my Attic feast went off with great eclât. I have had a present of a stallion from the Pasha of the Morea. I caught a fever going to Olympia. I was blown ashore on the Island of Salamis, in my way to Corinth through the Gulf of Ægina. I have kicked an Athenian postmaster, I have a friendship with the French Consul and an
Italian painter, and am on good terms with five Teutones and Cimbri, Danes and Germans, who are travelling for an academy. Vale!

Yours ever,