I was with Lord Byron, at his house in Piccadilly, the best part of
the three last days before he left London, to quit England; I
expressed my regret at his departure, and desired to know if it was
really his intention not to return (little anticipating what
eventually took place;) he fixed his eyes upon me with an eager look
of inquiry, exclaiming at the same time, "Good God! I never had it in
contemplation to remain in exile--why do you ask that question?" I
stated that such a report had been rumoured. "I certainly intend
returning," continued his lordship, "unless the _grim tyrant_ should
be playing his pranks on me."
He appeared very anxious for the voyage, and walked about the room in
great agitation, waiting the return of a messenger who had been sent
respecting some delay which was likely to take place; the messenger
however soon entered, and presented him a letter, which his lordship
opened with great eagerness. In reading the letter his countenance,
like the earth illumined by the re-appearance of the moon, after
having been obscured by dark clouds, brightened up, and at the close
he exultingly exclaimed "this is kind--very kind--Nathan! to-morrow I
quit." I soon after left him; he shook me heartily by the hand, and
left with his impression a fifty pound note, saying, "Do not be
offended with me at this mode of expressing the delight you have
afforded me--until we meet again, farewell!--I shall not forget my
promise.
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