do.

BOXES, now I think on it, I'll have in capitals; the rest, in a neat
Italian hand. Or better, perhaps, BORES in Old English characters,
like Madoc or Thalaba?

_A propos_ of Spenser (you will find him mentioned a page or two before,
near enough for an _a propos_), I was discoursing on poetry (as one's
apt to deceive one's self, and when a person is willing to _talk_ of
what one likes, to believe that be also likes the same, as lovers do)
with a young gentleman of my office, who is deep read in Anacreon Moore,
Lord Strangford, and the principal modern poets, and I happened to
mention Epithalamiums, and that I could show him a very fine one of
Spenser's. At the mention of this my gentleman, who is a very fine
gentleman, pricked up his ears and expressed great pleasure, and begged
that I would give him leave to copy it; he did not care how long it was
(for I objected the length), he should be very happy to see _anything by
him_. Then pausing, and looking sad, he ejaculated, "POOR SPENCER!" I
begged to know the reason of his ejaculation, thinking that time had by
this time softened down any calamities which the bard might have
endured. "Why, poor fellow," said he, "he has lost his wife!" "Lost his
wife!" said I, "who are you talking of?" "Why, Spencer!" said he; "I've
read the Monody he wrote on the occasion, and _a very pretty thing it
is_." This led to an explanation (it could be delayed no longer) that
the sound _Spenser_, which, when poetry is talked of, generally excites
an image of an old bard in a ruff, and sometimes with it dim notions of
Sir P. Sidney and perhaps Lord Burleigh, had raised in my gentleman a
quite contrary image of the Honorable William Spencer, who has
translated some things from the German very prettily, which are
published with Lady Di Beauclerk's designs. Nothing like defining of
terms when we talk. What blunders might I have fallen into of quite
inapplicable criticism, but for this timely explanation!

N.B.--At the beginning of _Edm._ Spenser (to prevent mistakes), I have
copied from my own copy, and primarily from a book of Chalmers's on
Shakspeare, a sonnet of Spenser's never printed among his poems. It is
curious, as being manly, and rather Miltonic, and as a sonnet of
Spenser's with nothing in it about love or knighthood. I have no room
for remembrances, but I hope our doing your commission will prove we do
not quite forget you.

C. L.

[1] Wordsworth's son Thomas was born June 1