"St. James's Street, Dec. 8. 1811.
"Behold a most formidable sheet, without gilt or black edging, and
consequently very vulgar and indecorous, particularly to one of
your precision; but this being Sunday, I can procure no better,
and will atone for its length by not filling it. Bland I have not
seen since my last letter; but on Tuesday he dines with me, and
will meet M * * e, the epitome of all that is exquisite in poetical or
personal accomplishments. How Bland has settled with Miller, I know
not. I have very little interest with either, and they must arrange
their concerns according to their own gusto. I have done my
endeavours, _at your request_, to bring them together, and hope
they may agree to their mutual advantage.
"Coleridge has been lecturing against Campbell. Rogers was present,
and from him I derive the information. We are going to make a party
to hear this Manichean of poesy. Pole is to marry Miss Long, and
will be a very miserable dog for all that. The present ministers
are to continue, and his Majesty _does_ continue in the same state;
so there's folly and madness for you, both in a breath.
"I never heard but of one man truly fortunate, and he was
Beaumarchais, the author of Figaro, who buried two wives and gained
three law-suits before he was thirty.
"And now, child, what art thou doing? _Reading, I trust._ I want to
see you take a degree. Remember, this is the most important period
of your life; and don't disappoint your papa and your aunt, and all
your kin--besides myself. Don't you know that all male children are
begotten for the express purpose of being graduates? and that even
I am an A.M., though how I became so, the Public Orator only can
resolve. Besides, you are to be a priest: and to confute Sir
William Drummond's late book about the Bible, (printed, but not
published,) and all other infidels whatever. Now leave Master H.'s
gig, and Master S.'s Sapphics, and become as immortal as Cambridge
can make you.
"You see, Mio Carissimo, what a pestilent correspondent I am likely
to become; but then you shall be as quiet at Newstead as you
please, and I won't disturb your studies as I do now. When do you
fix the day, that I may take you up according to contract? Hodgson
talks of making a third in our journey; but we can't stow him,
inside at least. Positively you shall go with me as was agreed, and
don't let me have any of your _politesse_ to H. on the occasion. I
shall manage to arrange for both with a little contrivance. I wish
H. was not quite so fat, and we should pack better. You will want
to know what I am doing--chewing tobacco.
"You see nothing of my allies, Scrope Davies and Matthews[35]--they
don't suit you; and how does it happen that I--who am a pipkin of
the same pottery--continue in your good graces? Good night,--I will
go on in the morning.
"Dec. 9th. In a morning, I'm always sullen, and to-day is as sombre
as myself. Rain and mist are worse than a sirocco, particularly in
a beef-eating and beer-drinking country. My bookseller, Cawthorne,
has just left me, and tells me, with a most important face, that he
is in treaty for a novel of Madame D'Arblay's, for which 1000
guineas are asked! He wants me to read the MS. (if he obtains it),
which I shall do with pleasure; but I should be very cautious in
venturing an opinion on her whose Cecilia Dr. Johnson
superintended.[36] If he lends it to me, I shall put it into the
hands of Rogers and M * * e, who are truly men of taste. I have filled
the sheet, and beg your pardon; I will not do it again. I shall,
perhaps, write again, but if not, believe, silent or scribbling,
that I am, my dearest William, ever," &c.
[Footnote 35: The brother of his late friend, Charles Skinner Matthews.]
[Footnote 36: Lord Byron is here mistaken. Dr. Johnson never saw Cecilia
till it was in print. A day or two before publication, the young
authoress, as I understand, sent three copies to the three persons who
had the best claim to them,--her father, Mrs. Thrale, and Dr.
Johnson.--_Second edition_.]
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