the notion tainted his mind, and irritated that hereditary sullenness
of humour, which constituted an ingredient so remarkable in the
composition of his more mature character.

An anecdote of this period, characteristic of his eccentricity, and
the means which he scrupled not to employ in indulging it, deserves
to be mentioned.

In repairing Newstead Abbey, a skull was found in a secret niche of
the walls. It might have been that of the monk who haunted the
house, or of one of his own ancestors, or of some victim of the
morose race. It was converted into a goblet, and used at Odin-like
orgies. Though the affair was but a whim of youth, more odious than
poetical, it caused some talk, and raised around the extravagant host
the haze of a mystery, suggesting fantasies of irreligion and horror.
The inscription on the cup is not remarkable either for point or
poetry.


Start not, nor deem my spot fled;
In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.

I liv'd, I lov'd, I quaff'd like thee;
I died, but earth my bones resign:
Fill up--thou canst not injure me,
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

Better to hold the sparkling grape