th thought; and this defect, whenever I have suspected it
or found it to exist in any writings of mine, I have always found
incurable. The fault lies too deep, and is in the first conception. If
you see Coleridge before I do, do not speak of this to him, as I should
like to have his judgment unpreoccupied by such an apprehension. I wish
much to have your further opinion of the young Roscius, above all of his
'Hamlet.' It is certainly impossible that he should understand the
character, that is, the composition of the character. But many of the
sentiments which are put into Hamlet's mouth he may be supposed to be
capable of feeling, and to a certain degree of entering into the spirit
of some of the situations. I never saw 'Hamlet' acted myself, nor do I
know what kind of a play they make of it. I think I have heard that
some parts which I consider among the finest are omitted: in particular,
Hamlet's wild language after the ghost has disappeared. The players have
taken intolerable liberties with Shakspeare's Plays, especially with
'Richard the Third,' which, though a character admirably conceived and
drawn, is in some scenes bad enough in Shakspeare himself; but the play,
as it is now acted, has always appeared to me a disgrace to the English
stage. 'Hamlet,' I suppose, is treated by them with more reverence. They
are both characters far, far above the abilities of any actor whom I
have ever seen. Henderson was before my time, and, of course, Garrick.

We are looking anxiously for Coleridge: perhaps he may be with you now.
We were afraid that he might have had to hear other bad news of our
family, as Lady Beaumont's little god-daughter has lately had that
dangerous complaint, the croup, particularly dangerous here, where we
are thirteen miles from any medical advice on which we can have the
least reliance. Her case has been a mild one, but sufficient to alarm us
much, and Mrs. Wordsworth and her aunt have undergone much fatigue in
sitting up, as for nearly a fortnight she had very bad nights. She yet
requires much care and attention.

Is your building going on? I was mortified that the sweet little valley,
of which you spoke some time ago, was no longer in the possession of
your family: it is the place, I believe, where that illustrious and most
extraordinary man, Beaumont the Poet, and his brother, were born. One is
astonished when one thinks of that man having been only eight-and-twenty
years of age, for I believe he wa