* * * * *

TO MR. MURRAY.

     “Monday evening, Dec. 6. 1813.

“It is all very well, except that the lines are not numbered properly, and a diabolical mistake, page 67., which must be corrected with the pen, if no other way remains; it is the omission of ‘not’ before ‘disagreeable,’ in the note on the amber rosary.  This is really horrible, and nearly as bad as the stumble of mine at the threshold—­I mean the misnomer of Bride.  Pray do not let a copy go without the ‘not;’ it is nonsense, and worse than nonsense as it now stands.  I wish the printer was saddled with a vampire.

     “P.S.  It is still hath instead of have in page 20.; never was
     any one so misused as I am by your devils of printers.

     “P.S.  I hope and trust the ‘not’ was inserted in the first
     edition.  We must have something—­any thing—­to set it right.  It is
     enough to answer for one’s own bulls, without other people’s.”

* * * * *

LETTER 151.  TO MR. MURRAY.

     “December 27. 1813.

“Lord Holland is laid up with the gout, and would feel very much obliged if you could obtain, and send as soon as possible, Madame d’Arblay’s (or even Miss Edgeworth’s) new work.  I know they are not out; but it is perhaps possible for your Majesty to command what we cannot with much suing purchase, as yet.  I need not say that when you are able or willing to confer the same favour on me, I shall be obliged.  I would almost fall sick myself to get at Madame d’Arblay’s writings.

“P.S.  You were talking to-day of the American edition of a certain unquenchable memorial of my younger days.  As it can’t be helped now, I own I have some curiosity to see a copy of trans-Atlantic typography.  This you will perhaps obtain, and one for yourself; but I must beg that you will not import more, because, seriously, I do wish to have that thing forgotten as much as it has been forgiven.

“If you send to the Globe editor, say that I want neither excuse nor contradiction, but merely a discontinuance of a most ill-grounded charge.  I never was consistent in any thing but my politics; and as my redemption depends on that solitary virtue, it is murder to carry away my last anchor.”

* * * * *

Of these hasty and characteristic missives with which he despatched off his “still-breeding thoughts,” there yet remain a few more that might be presented to the reader; but enough has here been given to show the fastidiousness of his self-criticism, as well as the restless and unsatisfied ardour with which he pressed on in pursuit of perfection,—­still seeing, according to the usual doom of genius, much farther than he could reach.