LETTER 61. TO MR. DALLAS.

"Newstead, August 21. 1811.

"Your letter gives me credit for more acute feelings than I
possess; for though I feel tolerably miserable, yet I am at the
same time subject to a kind of hysterical merriment, or rather
laughter without merriment, which I can neither account for nor
conquer, and yet I do not feel relieved by it; but an indifferent
person would think me in excellent spirits. 'We must forget these
things,' and have recourse to our old selfish comforts, or rather
comfortable selfishness. I do not think I shall return to London
immediately, and shall therefore accept freely what is offered
courteously--your mediation between me and Murray. I don't think my
name will answer the purpose, and you must be aware that my plaguy
Satire will bring the north and south Grub Streets down upon the
'Pilgrimage;'--but, nevertheless, if Murray makes a point of it,
and you coincide with him, I will do it daringly; so let it be
entitled 'By the Author of English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.' My
remarks on the Romaic, &c., once intended to accompany the 'Hints
from Horace,' shall go along with the other, as being indeed more
appropriate; also the smaller poems now in my possession, with a
few selected from those published in * *'s Miscellany. I have
found amongst my poor mother's papers all my letters from the East,
and one in particular of some length from Albania. From this, if
necessary, I can work up a note or two on that subject. As I kept
no journal, the letters written on the spot are the best. But of
this anon, when we have definitively arranged.

"Has Murray shown the work to any one? He may--but I will have no
traps for applause. Of course there are little things I would wish
to alter, and perhaps the two stanzas of a buffooning cast on
London's Sunday are as well left out. I much wish to avoid
identifying Childe Harold's character with mine, and that, in
sooth, is my second objection to my name appearing in the
title-page. When you have made arrangements as to time, size, type,
&c. favour me with a reply. I am giving you an universe of trouble,
which thanks cannot atone for. I made a kind of prose apology for
my scepticism at the head of the MS., which, on recollection, is so
much more like an attack than a def