of the affair, as you say it is a serious one; and, if it grows more so, you should make a trip over here for a few months, to see how things turn out.  I suppose you are a violent admirer of England by your staying so long in it.  For my own part, I have passed, between the age of one-and-twenty and thirty, half the intervenient years out of it without regretting any thing, except that I ever returned to it at all, and the gloomy prospect before me of business and parentage obliging me, one day, to return to it again,—­at least, for the transaction of affairs, the signing of papers, and inspecting of children.

“I have here my natural daughter, by name Allegra,—­a pretty little girl enough, and reckoned like papa.[26] Her mamma is English,—­but it is a long story, and—­there’s an end.  She is about twenty months old.

“I have finished the first Canto (a long one, of about 180 octaves) of a poem in the style and manner of ‘Beppo’, encouraged by the good success of the same.  It is called ‘Don Juan’, and is meant to be a little quietly facetious upon every thing.  But I doubt whether it is not—­at least, as far as it has yet gone—­too free for these very modest days.  However, I shall try the experiment, anonymously, and if it don’t take, it will be discontinued.  It is dedicated to S * * in good, simple, savage verse, upon the * * * ’s politics, and the way he got them.  But the bore of copying it out is intolerable; and if I had an amanuensis he would be of no use, as my writing is so difficult to decipher.

        “My poem’s Epic, and is meant to be
        Divided in twelve books, each book containing
        With love and war, a heavy gale at sea—­
        A list of ships, and captains, and kings reigning—­
        New characters, &c. &c.

     The above are two stanzas, which I send you as a brick of my Babel,
     and by which you can judge of the texture of the structure.

“In writing the Life of Sheridan, never mind the angry lies of the humbug Whigs.  Recollect that he was an Irishman and a clever fellow, and that we have had some very pleasant days with him.  Don’t forget that he was at school at Harrow, where, in my time, we used to show his name—­R.B.  Sheridan, 1765,—­as an honour to the walls.  Remember * *.  Depend upon it that there were worse folks going, of that gang, than ever Sheridan was.

“What did Parr mean by ‘haughtiness and coldness?’ I listened to him with admiring ignorance, and respectful silence.  What more could a talker for fame have?—­they don’t like to be answered.  It was at Payne Knight’s I met him, where he gave me more Greek than I could carry away.  But I certainly meant to (and did) treat him with the most respectful deference.

“I wish you a good night, with a Venetian benediction, ’Benedetto te, e la terra che ti fara!’—­’May you be blessed, and the earth which you