Come, I WILL have my fault-finding at last! So you can decypher my
_utterest_ hieroglyphic? Now droop the eyes while I triumph: the
plains cower, cower beneath the mountains their masters--and the
Priests stomp over the clay ridges, (a palpable plagiarism from two
lines of a legend that delighted my infancy, and now instruct my
maturer years in pretty nearly all they boast of the semi-mythologic
era referred to--'In London town, when reigned King Lud, His lords
went stomping thro' the mud'--would all historic records were half as
picturesque!)
But you know, yes, _you_ know you are too indulgent by far--and treat
these roughnesses as if they were advanced to many a stage! Meantime
the pure gain is mine, and better, the kind generous spirit is mine,
(mine to profit by)--and best--best--best, the dearest friend is mine,