LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
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Letters and Journals of Lord Byron
Lord Byron to John Murray, 9 August 1819

Life of Byron: to 1806
Life of Byron: 1806
Life of Byron: 1807
Life of Byron: 1808
Life of Byron: 1809
Life of Byron: 1810
Life of Byron: 1811
Life of Byron: 1812
Life of Byron: 1813
Life of Byron: 1814
Life of Byron: 1815
Life of Byron: 1816 (I)
Life of Byron: 1816 (II)
Life of Byron: 1817
Life of Byron: 1818
Life of Byron: 1819
Life of Byron: 1820
Life of Byron: 1821
Life of Byron: 1822
Life of Byron: 1823
Life of Byron: 1824
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“Ravenna, August 9th, 1819.
* * * * * * *

“Talking of blunders reminds me of Ireland—Ireland of Moore. What is this I see in Galignani about ‘Bermuda—agent—deputy—appeal—attachment,’ &c.? What is the matter? Is it any thing in which his friends can be of use to him? Pray inform me.

“Of Don Juan I hear nothing further from you; * * *, but the papers don’t seem so fierce as the letter you sent me seemed to anticipate, by their extracts at least in Galignani’s Messenger. I never saw such a set of fellows as you are! And then the pains taken to exculpate the modest publisher—he remonstrated, forsooth! I will write a preface that shall exculpate you and * * * &c. completely, on that point; but, at the same time, I will cut you up, like gourds. You have no more soul than the Count de Caylus (who assured his friends, on his deathbed, that he had none, and that he must know better than they whether he had one or no), and no more blood than a water-melon! And I see there hath been asterisks, and what Perry used to call ‘domned cutting and slashing’—but, never mind.

“I write in haste. To-morrow I set off for Bologna. I write to you with thunder, lightning, &c. and all the winds of heaven whistling
A. D. 1819. LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 231
through my hair, and the racket of preparation to boot. ‘My mistress dear, who hath fed my heart upon smiles and wine’ for the last two months, set off with her husband for Bologna this morning, and it seems that I follow him at three to-morrow morning. I cannot tell how our romance will end, but it bath gone on hitherto most erotically. Such perils and escapes! Juan’s are as child’s play in comparison. The fools think that all my poeshie is always allusive to my own adventures: I have had at one time or another better and more extraordinary and perilous and pleasant than these, every day of the week, if I might tell them; but that must never be.

“I hope Mrs. M. has accouched.

“Yours ever.”