But with reverence be it spoken, even this does not seem to me a matter of very great moment.  On the contrary, I believe that his papers in the Review have (with a few exceptions) done the work a great deal more harm than good.  I cannot express what I feel; but there was always the bitterness of Gifford without his dignity, and the bigotry of Southey without his bonne-foi. His scourging of such poor deer as Lady Morgan was unworthy of a work of that rank.  If we can get the same information elsewhere, no fear that we need equally regret the secretary’s quill.  As it is, we must be contented to watch the course of things and recollect the Roman’s maxim, “quae casus obtullerint ad sapientiam vertenda.”

I an vexed not a little at Mr. Barrow’s imprudence in mentioning my name to Croker and to Rose as in connection with the paper; and for this reason that I was most anxious to have produced at least one number of the Review ere that matter should have been at all suspected.  As it is, I hope you will still find means to make Barrow, Rose, and Croker (at all events the two last) completely understand that you had, indeed, wished me to edit the paper, but that I had declined that, and that then you had offered me the Review.

No matter what you say as to the firm belief I have expressed that the paper will answer, and the resolutions I have made to assist you by writing political articles in it.  It is of the highest importance that in our anxiety about a new affair one should not lose sight of the old and established one, and I can believe that if the real state of the case were known at the outset of my career in London, a considerable feeling detrimental to the Quarterly might be excited.  We have enough of adverse feelings to meet, without unnecessarily swelling their number and aggravating their quality.

I beg you to have a serious conversation with Mr. Barrow on this head, and in the course of it take care to make him thoroughly understand that the prejudices or doubts he gave utterance to in regard to me were heard of by me without surprise, and excited no sort of angry feeling whatever.  He could know nothing of me but from flying rumours, for the nature of which he could in no shape be answerable.  As for poor Rose’s well-meant hints about my “identifying myself perhaps in the mind of society with the scavengers of the press,” “the folly of your risking your name on a paper,” etc., etc., of course we shall equally appreciate all this.  Rose is a timid dandy, and a bit of a Whig to boot.  I shall make some explanation to him when I next have occasion to write to him, but that sort of thing would come surely with a better grace from you than from me.  I have not a doubt that he will be a daily scribbler in your paper ere it is a week old.