pt that I think it would please
her uncle, Lord Wentworth, and her father and mother. The former
(Lord W.) is now in town, and in very indifferent health. You,
perhaps, know that his property, amounting to seven or eight
thousand a year, will eventually devolve upon Bell. But the old
gentleman has been so very kind to her and me, that I hardly know
how to wish him in heaven, if he can be comfortable on earth. Her
father is still in the country.

"We mean to metropolise to-morrow, and you will address your next
to Piccadilly. We have got the Duchess of Devon's house there, she
being in France.

"I don't care what Power says to secure the property of the Song,
so that it is _not_ complimentary to me, nor any thing about
'condescending' or '_noble_ author'--both 'vile phrases,' as
Polonius says.

"Pray, let me hear from you, and when you mean to be in town. Your
continental scheme is impracticable for the present. I have to
thank you for a longer letter than usual, which I hope will induce
you to tax my gratitude still further in the same way.

"You never told me about 'Longman' and 'next winter,' and I am
_not_ a 'mile-stone.'"[77]

[Footnote 76: The death of his infant god-daughter, Olivia Byron Moore.]

[Footnote 77: I had accused him of having entirely forgot that, in a
preceding letter, I had informed him of my intention to publish with the
Messrs. Longman in the ensuing winter, and added that, in giving him
this information, I found I had been--to use an elegant Irish
metaphor--"whistling jigs to a mile-stone."]

* * * * *

LETTER 219. TO MR. COLERIDGE.

"Piccadilly, March 31. 1815.

"Dear Sir,

"It will give me great pleasure to comply with your request, though
I hope there is still taste enough left amongst us to render it
almost unnecessary, sordid and interested as, it must be admitted,
many of 'the trade' are, where circumstances give them an
advantage. I trust you do not permit yourself to be depressed by
the temporary partiality of what is called 'the public' for the
favourites of the moment; all experience is against the permanency
of such impressions. You must have lived to see many of these pass
away, and will survive many more--I mean personally, for
_poetically_, I would not insult you by a comparison.