The 'British Critic', in their Rokeby Review, have
presupposed a comparison which I am sure my friends never thought of,
and W. Scott's subjects are injudicious in descending to. I like the
man--and admire his works to what Mr. Braham calls _Entusymusy_. All
such stuff can only vex him, and do me no good. Many hate his
politics--(I hate all politics); and, here, a man's politics are like
the Greek _soul_--an [Greek: eidolon], besides God knows what _other
soul_; but their estimate of the two generally go together.
Harry has not brought _ma petite cousine_. I want us to go to the play
together;--she has been but once. Another short note from Jersey,
inviting Rogers and me on the 23d. I must see my agent to-night. I
wonder when that Newstead business will be finished. It cost me more
than words to part with it--and to _have_ parted with it! What matters
it what I do? or what becomes of me?--but let me remember Job's saying,
and console myself with being "a living man."
I wish I could settle to reading again,--my life is monotonous, and yet
desultory. I take up books, and fling them down again. I began a comedy,
and burnt it because the scene ran into _reality_;--a novel, for the
same reason. In rhyme, I can keep more away from facts; but the thought
always runs through, through ... yes, yes, through. I have had a letter
from Lady Melbourne--the best friend I ever had in my life, and the
cleverest of women.
Not a word from----[Lady F. W.
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