At that period, a severe fit of illness had confined me to bed for two months.

I heard of Lady Byron's distress; of the pains he took to give a harsh impression of her character to the world.

I wrote to her, and entreated her to come and let me see and hear her, if she conceived my sympathy or counsel could be any comfort to her.

She came; but what a tale was unfolded by this interesting young creature, who had so fondly hoped to have made a young man of genius and romance (as she supposed) happy! They had not been an hour in the carriage which conveyed them from the church, when, breaking into a malignant sneer, "Oh! what a dupe you have been to your imagination! How is it possible a woman of your sense could form the wild hope of reforming me?
Many are the tears you will have to shed ere that plan is accomplished.

It is enough for me that you are my wife for me to hate you! If you were the wife of any other man, I own you might have charms," etc.