by

I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers,
And for Sotheby's Blues have deserted Sam Rogers;
And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got,
Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote.
But to-morrow at four, we will both play the Scurra,
And you'll be Catullus, the Regent Mamurra.

Dear M.,—Having got thus far, I am interrupted
IO o'clock.

Half-past II.

Lady Heathcote's.

is gone. Addio.

I must dress for

TO MR. HODGSON

June 6, 1813.

My dear Hodgson,—I write to you a few lines on clxxv business. Murray has thought proper at his own risk, and peril, and profit (if there be any) to publish The Giaour; and it may possibly come under your ordeal in the Monthly. I merely wish to state that in the published copies there are additions to the amount of ten pages, text and margin (chiefly the last), which render it a little less unfinished (but more unintelligible) than before. If, therefore, you review it, let it be from the published copies and not from the first sketch. I shall not sail for this month, and shall be in town again next week, when I shall be happy to hear from but more glad to see you. You know I have no time or turn for correspondence (!). But you also know, I hope, that I am not the less, yours ever, Μπαιρῶν.

TO MR. MURRAY

clxxvi

Maidenhead, June 13, 1813.

I have read the Strictures, which are just enough, and not grossly abusive, in very fair couplets. There is a note against Massinger near the end, and one cannot quarrel with one's company, at any rate. The author detects some incongruous figures in a passage of English Bards, page 23, but which edition I do not know. In the sole copy in your possession-I mean the fifth edition-you may make these alterations, that I may profit (though a little too late) by his remarks:-For 'hellish instinct,' substitute 'brutal instinct'; 'harpies' alter to 'felons'; and for 'bloodhounds' write 'hell-hounds.' These be 'very bitter words, by my troth,' and the alterations not much sweeter; but as I shall not publish the thing, they can do no harm, but are a satisfaction to me in the

way of amendment. The passage is only twelve

lines.

You do not answer me about H.'s book; I want to write to him, and not to say anything unpleasing. If you direct to Post-Office, Portsmouth, till called for, I will send and receive your letter. You never told me of the forthcoming critique on Columbus, which is not too fair; and I do not think justice quite done to the Pleasures, which surely entitle the author to a higher rank than that assigned him in the Quarterly. But I must not cavil at the decisions of the invisible infallibles; and the article

is very well written. The general horror of 'frag

ments' makes me tremulous for The Giaour; but

you would publish it—I presume, by this time, to your repentance. But as I consented, whatever be its fate, I won't now quarrel with you, even though I detect it in my pastry; but I shall not open a pie without apprehension for some weeks.

The books which may be marked G. O. I will carry out. Do you know Clarke's Naufragia? I am told that he asserts the first volume of Robinson Crusoe was written by the first Lord Oxford, when in the Tower, and given by him to Defoe; if true, it is a curious anecdote. Have you got back Lord Brooke's Ms.? and what does Heber say of it? Write to me at Portsmouth.-Ever yours, etc.,

N.

TO MR. MURRAY

June 18, 1813.

Dear Sir,-Will you forward the enclosed answer clxxvii to the kindest letter I ever received in my life, my sense of which I can neither express to Mr. Gifford himself nor to any one else?-Ever yours,

N.

TO MR. GIFFORD.

June 18, 1813.

My dear Sir,--I feel greatly at a loss how to write clxxviii to you at all-still more to thank you as I ought. If you knew the veneration with which I have ever regarded you, long before I had the most distant prospect of becoming your acquaintance, literary or personal, my embarrassment would not surprise you.

V

Any suggestion of yours, even were it conveyed in the less tender shape of the text of the Baviad, or a Monk Mason note in Massinger, would have been obeyed; I should have endeavoured to improve myself by your censure: judge then if I should be less willing to profit by your kindness. It is not for me to bandy compliments with my elders and my betters I receive your approbation with gratitude, and will not return my brass for your gold by expressing more fully those sentiments of admiration, which, however sincere, would, I know, be unwel

come.

To your advice on religious topics I shall equally attend. Perhaps the best way will be by avoiding them altogether. The already published objectionable passages have been much commented upon, but certainly have been rather strongly interpreted. I am no bigot to infidelity, and did not expect that because I doubted the immortality of man, I should be charged with denying the existence of a God. It was the comparative insignificance of ourselves and our world, when placed in comparison with the mighty whole, of which it is an atom, that first led me to imagine that our pretensions to eternity might be overrated.

This, and being early disgusted with a Calvinistic Scotch school, where I was cudgelled to church for the first ten years of my life, afflicted me with this malady; for, after all, it is, I believe, a disease of the mind as much as other kinds of hypochondria.

TO MR. MOORE

June 22, 1813.

Yesterday I dined in company with Stael, the clxxix 'Epicene,' whose politics are sadly changed. She is for the Lord of Israel and the Lord of Liverpool—a vile antithesis of a Methodist and a Tory— talks of nothing but devotion and the Ministry, and, I presume, expects that God and the Government will help her to a pension.

Murray, the avaέ of publishers, the Anak of stationers, has a design upon you in the paper line. He wants you to become the staple and stipendiary editor of a periodical work. What say you? Will you be bound, like Kit Smart, to write for ninetynine years in the Universal Visitor'? Seriously, he talks of hundreds a year, and-though I hate prating of the beggarly elements-his proposal may be to your honour and profit, and, I am very sure, will be to our pleasure.

I don't know what to say about 'friendship.' I never was in friendship but once, in my nineteenth year, and then it gave me as much trouble as love. I am afraid, as Whitbread's sire said to the king, when he wanted to knight him, that I am 'too old'; but, nevertheless, no one wishes you more friends, fame, and felicity than yours, etc.

VOL. I.

241

Q