“Yesterday I had a letter from Ali Pacha! brought by Dr. Holland, who is just returned from Albania.  It is in Latin, and begins ‘Excellentissime nec non Carissime,’ and ends about a gun he wants made for him;—­it is signed ‘Ali Vizir.’  What do you think he has been about?  H. tells me that, last spring, he took a hostile town, where, forty-two years ago, his mother and sisters were treated as Miss Cunigunde was by the Bulgarian cavalry.  He takes the town, selects all the survivors of this exploit—­children, grandchildren, &c. to the tune of six hundred, and has them shot before his face.  Recollect, he spared the rest of the city, and confined himself to the Tarquin pedigree,—­which is more than I would.  So much for ‘dearest friend.’”

* * * * *

LETTER 138.  TO MR. MOORE.

     “Sept. 9. 1813.

“I write to you from Mr. Murray’s, and I may say, from Murray, who, if you are not predisposed in favour of any other publisher, would be happy to treat with you, at a fitting time, for your work.  I can safely recommend him as fair, liberal, and attentive, and certainly, in point of reputation, he stands among the first of ‘the trade.’  I am sure he would do you justice.  I have written to you so much lately, that you will be glad to see so little now.

     “Ever,” &c. &c.

* * * * *

LETTER 139.  TO MR. MOORE.

     “September 27. 1813.

     “Thomas Moore,

“(Thou wilt never be called ‘true Thomas,’ like he of Ercildoune,) why don’t you write to me?—­as you won’t, I must.  I was near you at Aston the other day, and hope I soon shall be again.  If so, you must and shall meet me, and go to Matlock and elsewhere, and take what, in flash dialect, is poetically termed ‘a lark,’ with Rogers and me for accomplices.  Yesterday, at Holland House, I was introduced to Southey—­the best looking bard I have seen for some time.  To have that poet’s head and shoulders, I would almost have written his Sapphics.  He is certainly a prepossessing person to look on, and a man of talent, and all that, and—­there is his eulogy.

“* * read me part of a letter from you.  By the foot of Pharaoh, I believe there was abuse, for he stopped short, so he did, after a fine saying about our correspondence, and looked—­I wish I could revenge myself by attacking you, or by telling you that I have had to defend you—­an agreeable way which one’s friends have of recommending themselves by saying—­’Ay, ay, I gave it Mr. Such-a-one for what he said about your being a plagiary, and a rake, and so on.’  But do you know that you are one of the very few whom I never have the satisfaction of hearing abused, but the reverse;—­and