Nothing will give us more pleasure than to have the honour of showing
every attention in our power to Mr. and Mrs. Morritt, and I am
particularly happy in a circumstance that at once promises me a great
deal of pleasure in the acquaintance of your Ladyship's friends, and
affords me the satisfaction of hearing from you again. Pray don't
triumph over me too much in the case of Lydia. I stood a very
respectable siege; but she caressed my wife, coaxed my children,
and made, by dint of cake and pudding, some impression even upon
the affections of my favourite dog: so, when all the outworks
were carried, the mere fortress had no choice but to surrender on
honourable terms. To the best of my thinking, notwithstanding the
cerulean hue of her stockings, and a most plentiful stock of eccentric
affectation, she is really at bottom a good-natured woman, with much
liveliness and some talent. She is now set out to the Highlands, where
she is likely to encounter many adventures. Mrs. Scott and I went as
far as Loch Catrine with her, from which jaunt I have just returned.
We had most heavenly weather, which was peculiarly favourable to my
fair companions' zeal for sketching every object that fell in their
way, from a castle to a pigeon-house. Did your Ladyship ever travel
with a _drawing_ companion? Mine drew like cart-horses, as well in
laborious zeal as in effect; for, after all, I could not help hinting
that the cataracts delineated bore a singular resemblance to haycocks,
and the rocks much correspondence to large old-fashioned cabinets
with their folding-doors open. So much for Lydia, whom I left on her
journey through the Highlands, but by what route she had not resolved.
I gave her three plans, and think it likely she will adopt none
of them: moreover, when the executive government of postilions,
landlords, and Highland boatmen devolves upon her English servant
instead of me, I am afraid the distresses of the errant damsels will
fall a little beneath the dignity of romances. All this nonsense is
_entre nous_, for Miss White has been actively zealous in getting me
some Irish correspondence about Swift, and otherwise very obliging.
It is not with my inclination that I fag for the booksellers; but what
can I do? My poverty and not my will consents. The income of my office
is only reversionary, and my private fortune much limited. My poetical
success fairly destroyed my prospects of professional success, and
obliged me to retire from the bar; for though I had a competent share
of information and industry, who would trust their cause to the author
of the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_? Now, although I do allow that an
author should take care of his literary character, yet I think the
least thing that his literary character can do in return is to take
some care of the author, who is unfortunately, like Jeremy in _Love
for Love_, furnished with a set of tastes and appetites which would
do honour to the income of a Duke if he had it. Besides, I go to work
with Swift _con amore_; for, like Dryden, he is an early favourite
of mine. The _Marmion_ is nearly out, and I have made one or two
alterations on the third edition, with which the press is now
groaning. So soon as it is, it will make the number of copies
published within the space of six months amount to eight thousand,--an
immense number, surely, and enough to comfort the author's wounded
feelings, had the claws of the reviewers been able to reach him
through the _steel jack_ of true Border indifference.