LETTER 192. TO MR. MOORE.

"Hastings, August 3. 1814.

"By the time this reaches your dwelling, I shall (God wot) be in
town again probably. I have been here renewing my acquaintance with
my old friend Ocean; and I find his bosom as pleasant a pillow for
an hour in the morning as his daughters of Paphos could be in the
twilight. I have been swimming and eating turbot, and smuggling
neat brandies and silk handkerchiefs,--and listening to my friend
Hodgson's raptures about a pretty wife-elect of his,--and walking
on cliffs, and tumbling down hills, and making the most of the
'dolce far-niente' for the last fortnight. I met a son of Lord
Erskine's, who says he has been married a year, and is the
'happiest of men;' and I have met the aforesaid H., who is also the
'happiest of men;' so, it is worth while being here, if only to
witness the superlative felicity of these foxes, who have cut off
their tails, and would persuade the rest to part with their brushes
to keep them in countenance.

"It rejoiceth me that you like 'Lara.' Jeffrey is out with his 45th
Number, which I suppose you have got. He is only too kind to me, in
my share of it, and I begin to fancy myself a golden pheasant, upon
the strength of the plumage wherewith he hath bedecked me. But
then, 'surgit amari,' &c.--the gentlemen of the Champion, and
Perry, have got hold (I know not how) of the condolatory address to
Lady J. on the picture-abduction by our R * * *, and have published
them--with my name, too, smack--without even asking leave, or
enquiring whether or no! D----n their impudence, and d----n every
thing. It has put me out of patience, and so, I shall say no more
about it.

"You shall have Lara and Jacque (both with some additions) when
out; but I am still demurring and delaying, and in a fuss, and so
is R. in his way.

"Newstead is to be mine again. Claughton forfeits twenty-five
thousand pounds; but that don't prevent me from being very prettily
ruined. I mean to bury myself there--and let my beard grow--and
hate you all.

"Oh! I have had the most amusing letter from Hogg, the Ettrick
minstrel and shepherd. He wants me to recommend him to Murray; and,
speaking of his present bookseller, whose 'bills' are never
'lifted,' he adds, _totidem verbis_, 'God d----n