The old Lord Byron died at Newstead Abbey, and Byron was his heir. He left Aberdeen with his mother. They sold their furniture for seventy-five pounds sterling—another point of similarity between us (I hope I may be pardoned my comparisons, I shall not have much pride in pressing them further)—and they reached Newstead. There they put the young man under the care of a quack doctor called Lavemde to try and cure his foot, for this infirmity occupied the greatest portion of his thoughts. As it was seen that the young lord's lameness was neither better nor worse for this charlatan's treatment, he was sent to London, where he was entrusted for his physical requirements to Dr. Baillie, and for his moral equipment to Dr. Glennie. There, both doctors had a certain measure of success, for Dr. Glennie had the satisfaction, after having put him on the way, of beholding his pupil surpass all his contemporaries, in letters and poetry.
Dr. Baillie managed to cure his foot sufficiently to enable him to wear an ordinary boot, so that his lameness did not seem more than a slight limp. Great was the proud youth's joy, and he communicated it to his nurse, whom he greatly loved.
In 1801, when he was thirteen, Byron followed his mother to Cheltenham, where the view of the Malvern Hills, recalling his first visit to the Highlands, made a deep impression upon him, especially as he saw them in the early morning and evening. When he and his mother were out riding together they learnt from the country people of a celebrated sorceress of those parts, and Lady Byron took a fancy to consult her. She said nothing of the lad, and introduced herself to the witch as an unmarried woman. But the sorceress shook her head.
"You are not a maid," she said; "you have been a wife and are now a widow; you have a son who will be in danger of being poisoned before he has attained his majority; he will marry twice, and the second time it will be with a foreigner."
We shall see directly that, if he was not exactly poisoned, he was in fear of being so, and it is well known that, if he did not marry a second time, at all events he found a beautiful Venetian lady of rank who made up to him for his first marriage, save in the recollection of its unhappiness.
From Dr. Glennie's tutelage, Byron proceeded to Harrow. Dr. Drury was then headmaster, and he was the first to detect some few faint glimpses of what the poet would one day become.
"Here I made my first verses," said Byron, "they were received but coldly; but, in revenge, I fought glorious battles at Harrow: I only lost one fight out of every seven!"
It was at Harrow that he made the acquaintance of Sir Robert Peel, and the way in which they became fast friends gives some idea of the character of Byron.
One of their comrades, taller and stronger than they, with whom consequently they had no dealings, was discovered by Byron thrashing poor Peel.
Byron came up and said—