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PART III
‘ASTARTE’

 
‘The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones.’
 

Shakespeare: Julius Cæsar.

CHAPTER I

From the moment when Lord Byron left England until the hour of his death, the question of his separation from his wife was never long out of his thoughts. He was remarkably communicative on the subject, and spoke of it constantly, not only to Madame de Staël, Hobhouse, Lady Blessington, and Trelawny, but, as we have seen, even in casual conversation with comparative strangers. There is no doubt that he felt himself aggrieved, and bitterly resented a verdict which he knew to be unjust. In a pamphlet which was subsequently suppressed, written while he was at Ravenna, Byron sums up his own case. In justice to one who can no longer plead his own cause, we feel bound to transcribe a portion of his reply to strictures on his matrimonial conduct, which appeared in Blackwood’s Magazine:

‘The man who is exiled by a faction has the consolation of thinking that he is a martyr; he is upheld by hope and the dignity of his cause, real or imaginary: he who withdraws from the pressure of debt may indulge in the thought that time and prudence will retrieve his circumstances: he who is condemned by the law has a term to his banishment, or a dream of its abbreviation; or, it may be, the knowledge or the belief of some injustice of the law, or of its administration in his own particular: but he who is outlawed by general opinion, without the intervention of hostile politics, illegal judgment, or embarrassed circumstances, whether he be innocent or guilty, must undergo all the bitterness of exile, without hope, without pride, without alleviation. This case was mine. Upon what grounds the public founded their opinion, I am not aware; but it was general, and it was decisive. Of me or of mine they knew little, except that I had written what is called poetry, was a nobleman, had married, become a father, and was involved in differences with my wife and her relatives, no one knew why, because the persons complaining refused to state their grievances. The fashionable world was divided into parties, mine consisting of a very small minority: the reasonable world was naturally on the stronger side, which happened to be the lady’s, as was most proper and polite. The press was active and scurrilous; and such was the rage of the day, that the unfortunate publication of two copies of verses, rather complimentary than otherwise to the subjects of both, was tortured into a species of crime, or constructive petty treason. I was accused of every monstrous vice by public rumour and private rancour; my name, which had been a knightly or a noble one since my fathers helped to conquer the kingdom for William the Norman, was tainted. I felt that, if what was whispered, and muttered, and murmured, was true, I was unfit for England; if false, England was unfit for me. I withdrew; but this was not enough. In other countries, in Switzerland, in the shadow of the Alps, and by the blue depths of the lakes, I was pursued and breathed upon by the same blight. I crossed the mountains, but it was the same: so I went a little farther, and settled myself by the waves of the Adriatic, like the stag at bay, who betakes him to the waters… I have heard of, and believe, that there are human beings so constituted as to be insensible to injuries; but I believe that the best mode to avoid taking vengeance is to get out of the way of temptation. I do not in this allude to the party, who might be right or wrong; but to many who made her cause the pretext of their own bitterness. She, indeed, must have long avenged me in her own feelings, for whatever her reasons may have been (and she never adduced them, to me at least), she probably neither contemplated nor conceived to what she became the means of conducting the father of her child, and the husband of her choice.’

Byron knew of the charge that had been whispered against his sister and himself, and, knowing it to be false, it stung him to the heart. And yet he dared not speak, because a solution of the mystery that surrounded the separation from his wife would have involved the betrayal of one whom he designated as the soul of his thought:

 
‘Invisible but gazing, as I glow
Mixed with thy spirit, blended with thy birth,
And feeling still with thee in my crush’d feelings dearth.’
 

Augusta Leigh, the selfless martyr, the most loyal friend that Byron ever possessed, his ‘tower of strength in the hour of need,’ assisted her brother, so to speak, to place the pack on a false scent, and the whole field blindly followed. There never was a nobler example of self-immolation than that of the sister who bravely endured the odium of a scandal in which she had no part. For Byron’s sake she was content to suffer intensely during her lifetime; and after she had ceased to feel, her name was branded by Lady Byron and her descendants with the mark of infamy.

A curious feature in the case is that, with few exceptions, those who knew Byron and Mrs. Leigh intimately came gradually to accept the story which Lady Caroline Lamb had insidiously whispered, a libel which flourished exceedingly in the noxious vapours of a scandal-loving age. As Nature is said to abhor a vacuum, so falsehood rushed in to fill the void which silence caused.

It is with a deep searching of heart and with great reluctance that we re-open this painful subject.

The entire responsibility must rest with the late Lord Lovelace, whose loud accusation against Byron’s devoted sister deprives us of any choice in the matter.

In order to understand the full absurdity of the accusation brought against Augusta Leigh, we have but to contrast the evidence brought against her in ‘Astarte’ with allusions to her in Byron’s poems, and with the esteem in which she was held by men and women well known in society at the time of the separation.

Lord Stanhope, the historian, in a private letter written at the time of the Beecher Stowe scandals, says:

‘I was very well acquainted with Mrs. Leigh about forty years ago, and used to call upon her at St. James’s Palace to hear her speak about Lord Byron, as she was very fond of doing. That fact itself is a presumption against what is alleged, since, on such a supposition, the subject would surely be felt as painful and avoided. She was extremely unprepossessing in her person and appearance – more like a nun than anything – and never can have had the least pretension to beauty. I thought her shy and sensitive to a fault in her mind and character, and, from what I saw and knew of her, I hold her to have been utterly incapable of such a crime as Mrs. Beecher Stowe is so unwarrantably seeking to cast upon her memory.’

Frances, Lady Shelley, a woman of large experience, penetration, and sagacity, whose husband was a personal friend of the Prince Regent, stated in a letter to the Times that Mrs. Leigh was like a mother to Byron, and when she knew her intimately – at the time of the separation – was ‘not at all an attractive person.’ Her husband was very fond of her, and had a high opinion of her.

These impressions are confirmed by all those friends and acquaintances of Mrs. Leigh who were still living in 1869.

In 1816 Augusta Leigh was a married woman of thirty-two years of age, and the mother of four children. She had long been attached to the Court, moved in good society, and was much liked by those who knew her intimately. Since her marriage in 1807 she had been more of a mother than a sister to Byron, and her affection for him was deep and sincere. She made allowances for his frailties, bore his uncertain temper with patience, and was never afraid of giving him good advice. In June, 1813, she tried to save him from the catastrophe which she foresaw; and having failed, she made the supreme sacrifice of her life, by adopting his natural child, thus saving the reputation of a woman whom her brother sincerely loved. Henceforward, under suspicions which must have been galling to her pride, she faced the world’s ‘speechless obloquy,’ heedless of consequences. In the after-years, when great trouble fell upon her through the misconduct of that adopted child, she bore her sorrows in silence. Among those who were connected with Byron’s life, Hobhouse, Hodgson, and Harness – three men of unimpeachable character – respected and admired her to the last.

Such, then, was the woman who was persecuted during her lifetime and slandered in her grave. Her traducers at first whispered, and afterwards openly stated, not only that she had committed incest with her brother, but that she had employed her influence over him to make a reconciliation with his wife impossible.

If that were so, it is simply inconceivable that Hobhouse should have remained her lifelong friend. His character is well known. Not only his public but much of his private life is an open book. As a gentleman and a man of honour he was above suspicion. From his long and close intimacy with Byron, there were but few secrets between them; and Hobhouse undoubtedly knew the whole truth of the matter between Byron and his sister. He was Byron’s most trusted friend during life, and executor at his death.

It has never been disputed that, at the time of the separation, Hobhouse demanded from Lady Byron’s representative a formal disavowal of that monstrous charge; otherwise the whole matter would be taken into a court of law. He would allow no equivocation. The charge must either be withdrawn, then and there, or substantiated in open court. When Lady Byron, through her representative, unreservedly disavowed the imputation, Byron was satisfied, and consented to sign the deed of separation.

Six months after Byron left England, Hobhouse visited him in Switzerland; and on September 9, 1816, he wrote as follows to Augusta Leigh:

‘It would be a great injustice to suppose that [Byron] has dismissed the subject from his thoughts, or indeed from his conversation, upon any other motive than that which the most bitter of his enemies would commend. The uniformly tranquil and guarded manner shows the effect which it is meant to hide… I trust the news from your Lowestoft correspondent [Lady Byron] will not be so bad as it was when I last saw you. Pardon me, dear Mrs. Leigh, if I venture to advise the strictest confinement to very common topics in all you say in that quarter. Repay kindness in any other way than by confidence. I say this, not in reference to the lady’s character, but as a maxim to serve for all cases.

‘Ever most faithfully yours,

‘J. C. Hobhouse.’

This letter shows, not only that the writer was firmly convinced of Mrs. Leigh’s innocence, but that he was afraid lest Lady Byron would worm the real secret out of Byron’s sister, by appealing, through acts of kindness, to her sense of gratitude. He knew that Mrs. Leigh had a very difficult part to perform. Her loyalty to Byron and Mary Chaworth had already borne a severe test, and he wished her to realize how much depended on her discretion.

The task of keeping in touch with Lady Byron, without dispelling her illusions, was so trying to Augusta Leigh’s naturally frank nature as almost to drive her to despair. Lady Byron, knowing that Byron was in constant correspondence with his sister, asked permission to read his letters, and it was difficult, without plausible excuse, to withhold them. Byron’s correspondence was never characterized by reticence. He invariably unburdened his mind, heedless of the effect which his words might have upon those to whom his letters were shown. In these circumstances Mrs. Leigh was kept in a fever of apprehension as to what Lady Byron might glean, even from the winnowed portions which, from time to time, were submitted for her perusal.

It has since transpired that, without Augusta’s knowledge, Lady Byron kept a copy of everything that was shown to her.

It appears from ‘Astarte’ that, in the early part of September, 1816, Augusta Leigh underwent a rigorous cross-examination – not only from Lady Byron, but from inquisitive acquaintances, who were determined to extract from her replies proofs of her guilt.

Lord Lovelace, on Lady Byron’s authority, states that between August 31 and September 14 (the precise date is not given) Augusta confessed to Lady Byron that she had committed incest with her brother previous to his marriage. This strange admission, which we are told had been long expected, seems to have completely satisfied Lady Byron. After having promised to keep her secret inviolate, she wrote to several of her friends, and told them that Augusta had made ‘a full confession of her guilt.’ There had been no witnesses at the meeting between these two ladies, and the incriminating letters, which Lord Lovelace says Mrs. Leigh wrote to Lady Byron, are not given in ‘Astarte’! But in 1817 Lady Byron, referring to these meetings, says: ‘She acknowledged that the verses, “I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,”’ were addressed to her.’

Augusta was certainly in an awkward predicament. By adopting Medora she had, at considerable personal risk, saved the reputation of Mary Chaworth. If she had now told the whole truth – namely, that Medora was merely her daughter by adoption – she would have been pressed to prove it by divulging the identity of that child’s mother. This was of course impossible. Not only would she have mortally offended Byron, and have betrayed his trust in her, but the fortune which by his will would devolve upon her children must have passed into other hands. For those reasons it was indispensable that the truth should be veiled. As to Mrs. Leigh’s alleged statement that the lines, ‘I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name,’ – were addressed to her, we say nothing. By that portion of her so-called ‘confession’ we may gauge the value of the rest. That Lady Byron should have been thus deceived affords a strong proof of her gullibility. There is nothing to show exactly what passed at these remarkable interviews. We know that Augusta’s statements, made orally, were subsequently written down from memory; because Lady Byron told one of her friends that she had sent the said ‘confession’ to the Lord Chancellor (Eldon), ‘as a bar to any future proceedings that might be taken by Lord Byron to obtain the custody of Ada.’

It is clear that Mrs. Leigh’s communication would never have been made except under a promise of secrecy. She did not suspect the treachery which Lady Byron contemplated, and thought that she might safely encourage her delusions. Perhaps she divined that Lady Byron had already convinced herself that Medora was Byron’s child. At any rate, she knew enough of Lady Byron to be certain that there would be no peace until that lady had satisfied herself that her suspicions were well founded. Unhappily for Mrs. Leigh, Hobhouse’s warning arrived too late; her ruse failed, and her reputation suffered during life. Although she was destined to bear the stigma of a crime of which she was innocent, she never wavered, and died with her secret unrevealed. Lady Byron, with all her ingenuity, never divined the truth. Towards the close of her life she became uneasy in her mind, and died under the impression that ‘Augusta had made a fool of her.’

Immediately after Mrs. Leigh’s interviews with Lady Byron she wrote to Byron, and revealed the state of affairs. That, at the same time, she reproached him for the troubles he had brought upon her is evident from Byron’s journal of September 29:

‘I am past reproaches, and there is a time for all things. I am past the wish of vengeance, and I know of none like what I have suffered; but the hour will come when what I feel must be felt, and the [truth will out?] – but enough.’

It was at this time, also, that Byron thought that the ‘Epistle to Augusta’ – sent to Murray on August 28 – had better not be published. It did not, in fact, see the light until 1830. Lady Byron’s conduct in this business affected him profoundly, and his feelings towards her changed completely. He was also angry with Augusta for a time, and told her that it was

‘on her account principally that he had given way at all and signed the separation, for he thought they would endeavour to drag her into it, although they had no business with anything previous to his marriage with that infernal fiend, whose destruction he should yet see.’⁵⁹

In spite of Lady Byron’s prejudice against Mrs. Leigh, as time went on she gradually realized that her sister-in-law’s so-called ‘confession’ was not consistent either with her known disposition, her reputation in society, or with her general conduct. In order to satisfy her conscience, Lady Byron, in April, 1851, arranged a meeting with Mrs. Leigh at Reigate. Clearly, it was Lady Byron’s purpose to obtain a full confession from Mrs. Leigh of the crime which she had long suspected. Lady Byron came to Reigate accompanied by the Rev. Frederick Robertson of Brighton, who happened then to be her spiritual adviser. This time Augusta Leigh’s ‘confession’ was to be made before an unimpeachable witness, who would keep a record of what passed. It deeply mortified Lady Byron to find that Mrs. Leigh – far from making any ‘confession’ – appeared before her in ‘all the pride of innocence,’ and, after saying that she had always been loyal to Byron and his wife, and had never tried to keep them apart, told Lady Byron that Hobhouse – who was still living – had expressed his opinion that Lady Byron had every reason to be grateful to Mrs. Leigh; for she not only risked the loss of property, but what was much dearer to her, Byron’s affection.⁶⁰

Alas, the bubble had burst! The confession, upon which the peace of Lady Byron’s conscience depended, was transformed into an avowal of innocence, which no threats could shake, no arguments could weaken, and no reproaches divert.

CHAPTER II

It is because ‘Astarte’ is a pretentious and plausible record of fallacies that the present writer feels bound to take note of its arguments.

In order to avoid circumlocution and tedious excursions over debatable ground, we will assume that the reader is tolerably well acquainted with literature relating to the separation of Lord and Lady Byron.

It would certainly have been better if the details of Byron’s quarrel with his wife had been ignored. Prior to the publication of Mrs. Beecher Stowe’s articles, in 1869, the greatest tenderness had been shown towards Lady Byron by all writers upon Byron’s career and poetry, and by all those who alluded to his unhappy marriage. Everyone respected Lady Byron’s excellent qualities, and no one accused her of any breach of faith in her conduct towards either her husband or his sister. Lady Byron was generally regarded as a virtuous and high-minded woman, with a hard and cold disposition, but nothing worse was said or thought of her, and the world really sympathized with her sorrows.

But when her self-imposed silence was broken by Mrs. Beecher Stowe, and Byron stood publicly accused on Lady Byron’s authority of an odious crime which she had never attempted to prove during the poet’s lifetime, there arose a revulsion of feeling against her memory. It was generally felt, after the suffering and the patience of a lifetime, that Lady Byron might well have evinced a deeper Christian spirit at its close.

As time went on, the memory of this untoward incident gradually faded away, and the present generation thought little of the rights or wrongs of a controversy which had moved their forefathers so deeply. The dead, so to speak, had buried their dead, and all would soon have been forgotten. Unfortunately, the late Lord Lovelace, a grandson of Lady Byron, goaded by perusal of the attacks made upon Lady Byron’s memory, after Mrs. Beecher Stowe’s revelations in 1869, was induced in 1905 to circulate among ‘those who, for special reasons, ought to have the means of acquainting themselves with the true position of Lord and Lady Byron,’ a work entitled ‘Astarte,’ which is mainly a compilation of letters and data, skilfully selected for the purpose of defaming his grandfather.

After informing the reader that ‘the public of this age would do well to pay no attention to voluminous complications and caricatures of Lord Byron,’ Lord Lovelace gaily proceeds, on the flimsiest of evidence, to blast, not only Byron’s name, but also the reputation of the poet’s half-sister, Augusta Leigh.

After telling the world that Byron ‘after his death was less honoured than an outcast,’ Lord Lovelace endeavours to justify the public neglect to honour the remains of a great national poet by accusing Byron of incest. Lord Lovelace’s claim to have been the sole depositary of so damning a secret is really comical, because, as a matter of fact, he never knew the truth at all. He thought that he had only, like Pandora, to open his box for all the evil to fly out, forgetting that Truth has an awkward habit of lying at the bottom. He seems, however, to have had some inkling of this, for he is careful to remind us that ‘Truth comes in the last, and very late, limping along on the arm of Time.’

In support of a theory which is supposed to be revealed by his papers, Lord Lovelace declares that a solution of Byron’s mystery may be found in his poems, and he fixes on ‘Manfred’ for the key. The haunting remorse of Manfred is once more trotted out to prove that Byron committed incest. There is nothing new in this ‘nightmare of folly,’ for Byron himself was well aware of the interpretation placed upon that poem by his contemporaries.

Manfred is certainly the revelation of deep remorse, but the crime for which he suffers had no connection with Augusta Leigh. Lord Lovelace says that ‘the germ of this nightmare in blank verse was in the actual letters of the living Astarte.’ The statement may be true; but he was certainly not in a position to prove it, for he knew not, to the last hour of his life, who the living Astarte was.

It is a sad story that should never have been told, and the present writer regrets that circumstances should have compelled him to save the reputation of one good woman by revealing matters affecting the misfortunes of another. But the blame must lie with those inconsiderate, ignorant, and prejudiced persons who, in an attempt to justify Lady Byron’s conduct, cruelly assailed the memory of one who was the solitary star which rose, and set not to the last.

 
‘When fortune changed – and love fled far,
And hatred’s shafts flew thick and fast,’
 

On January 2, 1815, Lord and Lady Byron were married at Seaham. The little that is known of their married life may be found in letters and memoranda of people who were in actual correspondence with them, and the details which we now give from various sources are necessary to a better understanding of the causes which led to a separation between husband and wife in January, 1816.

According to a statement made by Lady Byron to her friend Lady Anne Barnard, shortly after a rumour of the separation spread in London, there never was any real love on either side. The following passages are taken from some private family memoirs written by Lady Anne herself:

‘I heard of Lady Byron’s distress, and entreated her to come and let me see and hear her, if she conceived my sympathy or counsel could be any comfort to her. She came, but what a tale was unfolded by this interesting young creature, who had so fondly hoped to have made [Byron] happy! They had not been an hour in the carriage … when Byron, breaking into a malignant sneer, said: “Oh, what a dupe you have been to your imagination! How is it possible a woman of your sense could form the wild hope of reforming me? Many are the tears you will have to shed ere that plan is accomplished. It is enough for me that you are my wife for me to hate you; if you were the wife of any other man, I own you might have charms,” etc.

‘I listened in astonishment,’ writes Lady Anne. ‘“How could you go on after this, my dear!” said I. “Why did you not return to your father’s?”

‘“Because I had not a conception he was in earnest; because I reckoned it a bad jest, and told him so – that my opinion of him was very different from his of himself, otherwise he would not find me by his side. He laughed it over when he saw me appear hurt, and I forgot what had passed till forced to remember it. I believe he was pleased with me, too, for a little while. I suppose it had escaped his memory that I was his wife.”

‘But,’ says Lady Anne, ‘she described the happiness they enjoyed to have been unequal and perturbed. Her situation in a short time might have entitled her to some tenderness, but she made no claim on him for any. He sometimes reproached her for the motives that had induced her to marry him – “all was vanity, the vanity of Miss Milbanke carrying the point of reforming Lord Byron! He always knew her inducements; her pride shut her eyes to his; he wished to build up his character and his fortunes; both were somewhat deranged; she had a high name, and would have a fortune worth his attention – let her look to that for his motives!”

‘“Oh, Byron, Byron,” she said, “how you desolate me!” He would then accuse himself of being mad, and throw himself on the ground in a frenzy, which Lady Byron believed was affected to conceal the coldness and malignity of his heart – an affectation which at that time never failed to meet with the tenderest commiseration… Lady Byron saw the precipice on which she stood, and kept his sister with her as much as possible. He returned in the evenings from the haunts of vice, where he made her understand he had been, with manners so profligate.

‘“Oh, wretch!” said I. “And had he no moments of remorse?” “Sometimes he appeared to have them,” replied Lady Byron. “One night, coming home from one of his lawless parties, he saw me so indignantly collected, bearing all with such determined calmness, that a rush of remorse seemed to come over him; he called himself a monster, though his sister was present, and threw himself in agony at my feet. He said that I could not – no, I could not forgive him such injuries. He was sure that he had lost me for ever! Astonished at the return of virtue, my tears, I believe, flowed over his face, and I said: ‘Byron, all is forgotten; never, never shall you hear of it more!’ He started up, and, folding his arms while he looked at me, burst into laughter. ‘What do you mean?’ said I. ‘Only a philosophical experiment, that’s all,’ said he. ‘I wished to ascertain the value of your resolutions.’”

‘I need not say more of this prince of duplicity,’ continues Lady Anne Barnard, ‘except that varied were his methods of rendering her wretched, even to the last.’

There is enough evidence in the above statement to show that a separation between Lord and Lady Byron was inevitable. Byron’s temper, always capricious, became ungovernable under the vexatious exigencies of his financial affairs. Several executions had taken place in their house during the year, and it is said that even the beds upon which they slept were in the possession of the bailiffs.

It has been shown by those who knew Byron well that he was never suited to the married state. His temperament was an obstacle to happiness in marriage. He lacked the power of self-command, and the irritation produced by the shattered state of his fortune drove him at times to explosions, which were very like madness. We have an example of this in his conduct one night in Ithaca, when his companions were afraid to enter his room. Lady Byron could not meet these explosions in any effectual manner. The more fiercely he vented his exasperation, the colder she became. Lady Byron, like her husband, was a spoilt child who set her own self-will against his. If she had possessed more tact and deeper affections, she might possibly have managed him. We frankly admit that Byron’s conduct during this period was not calculated to win the love and respect of any woman. During his mad moods he did his utmost to blacken his own character, and it is not surprising that Lady Byron, who had heard much of his conduct before marriage, implicitly believed him. His so-called ‘mystifications’ were all taken seriously. She was, moreover, of a jealous nature, and Byron delighted to torment her by suggestions of immorality which had no foundation in fact. In such a character as Lady Byron’s, a hint was enough to awaken the darkest suspicions, and when an impression had been stamped on her mind it was impossible to remove it. Byron, of course, fanned the flame, for he was bored to death in the bonds of wedlock, and we are inclined to believe that he did many outrageous things in order to drive his wife on the road to a separation. When the moment came he was sorry, but he certainly brought matters designedly to a crisis. His sister Augusta was much in favour of his marriage, and had strong hopes that happiness was in store for them, as the following letter will show:

‘Six Mile Bottom,

‘February 15, 1815.

‘My dear Mr. Hodgson,

‘You could not have gratified me more than by giving me an opportunity of writing on my favourite subject to one so truly worthy of it as you are; indeed, I have repeatedly wished of late that I could communicate with you. Most thankful do I feel that I have so much to say that will delight you. I have every reason to think that my beloved B. is very happy and comfortable. I hear constantly from him and his Rib. They are now at Seaham, and not inclined to return to Halnaby, because all the world were preparing to visit them there, and at Seaham they are free from this torment, no trifling one in B.’s estimation, as you know. From my own observations on their epistles, and knowledge of B.’s disposition and ways, I really hope most confidently that all will turn out very happily. It appears to me that Lady Byron sets about making him happy quite in the right way. It is true I judge at a distance, and we generally hope as we wish; but I assure you I don’t conclude hastily on this subject, and will own to you, what I would not scarcely to any other person, that I had many fears and much anxiety founded upon many causes and circumstances of which I cannot write. Thank God! that they do not appear likely to be realized. In short, there seems to me to be but one drawback to all our felicity, and that, alas! is the disposal of dear Newstead, which I am afraid is irrevocably decreed. I received the fatal communication from Lady Byron ten days ago, and will own to you that it was not only grief, but disappointment; for I flattered myself such a sacrifice would not be made. From my representations she had said and urged all she could in favour of keeping it. Mr. Hobhouse the same, and I believe that he was deputed to make inquiries and researches, and I knew that he wrote to B. suggesting the propriety and expediency of at least delaying the sale. This most excellent advice created so much disturbance in Byron’s mind that Lady B. wrote me word, “He had such a fit of vexation he could not appear at dinner, or leave his room…” B.’s spirits had improved at the prospect of a release from the embarrassments which interfered so much with his comfort, and I suppose I ought to be satisfied with this… May the future bring peace and comfort to my dearest B.! that is always one of my first wishes; and I am convinced it is my duty to endeavour to be resigned to the loss of this dear Abbey from our family, as well as all other griefs which are sent by Him who knows what is good for us… I do not know what are B.’s plans. Lady Byron says nothing can be decided upon till their affairs are in some degree arranged. They have been anxious to procure a temporary habitation in my neighbourhood, which would be convenient to him and delightful to me, if his presence is required in Town upon this sad Newstead business. But I am sorry to say I cannot hear of any likely to suit them; and our house is so very small, I could scarcely contrive to take them in. Lady B. is extremely kind to me, for which I am most grateful, and to my dearest B., for I am well aware how much I am indebted to his partiality and affection for her good opinion. I will not give up the hope of seeing them on their way to Town, whenever they do go, as for a few nights they would, perhaps, tolerate the innumerable inconveniences attending the best arrangements I could make for them… My babes are all quite well; Medora more beautiful than ever… Lady B. writes me word she never saw her father and mother so happy: that she believes the latter would go to the bottom of the sea herself to find fish for B.’s dinner, and that Byron owns at last that he is very happy and comfortable at Seaham, though he had predetermined to be very miserable. In some of her letters she mentions his health not being very good, though he seldom complains, but says that his spirits have been improved by some daily walks she had prevailed on him to take; and attributes much of his languor in the morning and feverish feels at night to his long fasts, succeeded by too hearty meals for any weak and empty stomach to bear at one time, waking by night and sleeping by day. I flatter myself her influence will prevail over these bad habits.’

On March 18, 1815, Augusta Leigh again writes to Byron’s friend, the Rev. Francis Hodgson, from Six Mile Bottom: