[1] Wordsworth's cousin, who was ill of consumption in Devonshire. He
died the following year.

LXXXVII.

TO BERNARD BARTON.

_April_ 6, 1825.

Dear B.B.,--My spirits are so tumultuary with the novelty of my recent
emancipation that I have scarce steadiness of hand, much more mind, to
compose a letter. I am free, B.B.,--free as air!

"The little bird that wings the sky
Knows no such liberty." [1]
I was set free on Tuesday in last week at four
o'clock. I came home forever!

I have been describing my feelings as well as I can to Wordsworth in a
long letter, and don't care to repeat. Take it, briefly, that for a few
days I was painfully oppressed by so mighty a change; but it is becoming
daily more natural to me. I went and sat among 'em all at my old
thirty-three-years' desk yester-morning; and, deuce take me, if I had
not yearnings at leaving all my old pen-and-ink fellows, merry, sociable
lads,--at leaving them in the lurch, fag, fag, fag! The comparison of my
own superior felicity gave me anything but pleasure.

B.B., I would not serve another seven years for seven hundred thousand
pounds! I have got L441 net for life, sanctioned by Act of Parliament,
with a provision for Mary if she survives me. I will live another fifty
years; or if I live but ten, they will be thirty, reckoning the quantity
of real time in them,--_i.e._, the time that is a man's own, Tell me how
you like "Barbara S.;" [2] will it be received in atonement for the
foolish "Vision"--I mean by the lady? _A propos_, I never saw Mrs.
Crawford in my life; nevertheless, it's all true of somebody.

Address me, in future, Colebrooke Cottage, Islington, I am really
nervous (but that will wear off), so take this brief announcement.

Yours truly,

C.L.

[1] "The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty."
LOVELACE.

[2] The Elia essay. Fanny Kelly was the original of "Barbara S."

LXXXVIII.

TO BERNARD BARTON.

_July_ 2, 1825.

I am hardly able to appreciate your volume now; [1] but I liked the
dedication much, and the apology for your bald burying grounds. To
Shelley--but _that_ is not new, To the young Vesper-singer, Great
Bealings, Playford, and what not.

If there be a cavil, it is that the topics of religious consolation,
however beautiful, are repeated till a sort of triteness attends them.
It seems as if you were forever losing Friends' children by death, and
reminding their parents of the Re