. . . I set sail from Dublin to-morrow night, bearing the heartfelt
regrets of all the people of Ireland with me.
Where is my dear old Alfred? Sometimes I intend to send him a quotation
from a book: but do not perform the same. Are you packing up for Italy?
I had a pleasant week with Edgeworth. He farms, and is a justice: and
goes to sleep on the sofa of evenings. At odd moments he looks into
Spinoza and Petrarch. People respect him very much in those parts. Old
Miss Edgeworth is wearing away: she has a capital bright soul which even
now shines quite youthfully through her faded carcase. . . . I had the
weakest dream the other night that ever was dreamt. I thought I saw
Thomas Frognall Dibdin--and that was all. Tell this to Alfred. Carlyle
talks of coming to see Naseby: but I leave him to suit the weather to his
taste.
BOULGE HALL, WOODBRIDGE,
_Sunday_, _Dec_. 10/1843.