BICENTENNIAL TRIBUTE
Amusing Poetical Anecdotes for Brief Byronic Theatricals
by Jed Pumblechook
LORD BYRON














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Wortley Clutterbuck
confronts
My Grandmother's Review



Fletcher
is Sorely Bewildered in
Albania
to a Vain lady
Artful papa
and her







Byron, 1821: Old Edgeworth - and the Miss Edgeworth - when on the road, heard of her brother’s, and his Son’s, death. What was to be done? Their London Apparel was all ordered and made! So they sunk his death for the six weeks of their Sojourn, and went into mourning on their way back to Ireland. Fact!
B:Fletcher stays - besides, he speaks no Italian - excepting some commonplaces not frowned upon this side of the water
I fear blasphemies enough to break their jaws–
B: Superb! - a letter from Hodgson (opens) news, deaths and defeats - capital crimes
(laughs) and the misfortunes of one’s friends (both laugh) how very pleasant! (turns over) damn his eyes! no literary mat
- controversies - criticisms!B: And the little accomplishments I possess either in mind or body are derived from her and her alone!
I envy you the good Nottre Coals – which I think the best in the World, & which I always regret do not come up by the Canal as well as the Staffordshire which are much 1:4 inferior – it is rather extraordinary having hit upon such a Subject in a Letter to you but if ever one is to think of Coals or fire or Warmth, it seems justifiable at this moment for really I have been frozen all this last Week
I have been unwilling to write until I had something to say, an occasion to which I do not always restrict myself
I am one day in high health – and the next on fire or ice – in short I shall turn hypochondriacal – or dropsical – whimsical I am already – but don’t let me {get} tragical
effronterie, assailments –Galt is here & I have seen him, he talks about his tomes in a manner that makes me suspect him to be deranged
God knows, I have been guilty of many excesses, but as I have laid down a resolution to reform, and lately kept it
civil buffeting
razor faced villan
perilous stuff
foamed into a reformer
Dr . Dori physicked him – I dare say he is dead by now
Why now, saucy Tom?
at present as miserable in mind and Body, as Literary abuse, , and total enervation can make me
my future is of no very promising appearance
quite au desespoir, shoot myself and Go out of the world with eclat, this upstart Son of a Button make the way to riches to Greatness lies before me, I can, {I} will cut myself a path through the world or perish in the attempt,
monstrous angry
Six horseloads of graveyard clay upon you
for by the larkins
t I will bet you a flask of Falernum



conduct is a happy compound of derangement and Folly
blade
blazes
costermonger
the cut heroic
groat dowager
yoked



By a not very temperate letter from Mr . Hobhouse – in a style which savours somewhat of the London tavern1



Shop & parlour gossip –