14.--To the Hon. Augusta Byron.


Friday, November 2d, 1804.


This morning, my dear Augusta, I received your affectionate letter,
and it reached me at a time when I wanted consolation, not however of
your kind for I am not yet old enough or Goose enough to be in love;
no, my sorrows are of a different nature, though more calculated to
provoke risibility than excite compassion. You must know, Sister of
mine, that I am the most unlucky wight in Harrow, perhaps in
Christendom, and am no sooner out of one scrape than into another. And
to day, this very morning, I had a thundering Jobation from our Good
Doctor, [1] which deranged my _nervous system_, for at least five
minutes. But notwithstanding He and I now and then disagree, yet upon
the whole we are very good friends, for there is so much of the
Gentleman, so much mildness, and nothing of pedantry in his character,
that I cannot help liking him, and will remember his instructions with
gratitude as long as I live. He leaves Harrow soon, _apropos_, so do
I. This quitting will be a considerable loss to the school. He is the
best master we ever had, and at the same time respected and feared;
greatly will he be regretted by all who know him. You tell me you
don't know my friend L'd Delawarr; he is considerably younger than me,
but the most good tempered, amiable, clever fellow in the universe. To
all which he adds the quality (a good one in the eyes of women) of
being remarkably handsome, almost too much so for a boy. He is at
present very low in the school, not owing to his want of ability, but
to his years. I am nearly at the top of it; by the rules of our
Seminary he is under my power, but he is too goodnatured ever to