This trait of the young poet speaks sufficiently for itself;—­the sensibility, the temper, the ingenuous pliableness which it exhibits, show a disposition capable, by nature, of every thing we most respect and love.

Of a no less amiable character were the feelings that, about this time, dictated the following letter;—­a letter which it is impossible to peruse without acknowledging the noble candour and conscientiousness of the writer:—­

LETTER 8.

TO THE EARL OF CLARE.

“Southwell, Notts, February 6. 1807.

“My dearest Clare,

“Were I to make all the apologies necessary to atone for my late negligence, you would justly say you had received a petition instead of a letter, as it would be filled with prayers for forgiveness; but instead of this, I will acknowledge my sins at once, and I trust to your friendship and generosity rather than to my own excuses.  Though my health is not perfectly re-established, I am out of all danger, and have recovered every thing but my spirits, which are subject to depression.  You will be astonished to hear I have lately written to Delawarre, for the purpose of explaining (as far as possible without involving some old friends of mine in the business) the cause of my behaviour to him during my last residence at Harrow (nearly two years ago), which you will recollect was rather ‘en cavalier.’  Since that period, I have discovered he was treated with injustice both by those who misrepresented his conduct, and by me in consequence of their suggestions.  I have therefore made all the reparation in my power, by apologising for my mistake, though with very faint hopes of success; indeed I never expected any answer, but desired one for form’s sake; that has not yet arrived, and most probably never will.  However, I have eased my own conscience by the atonement, which is humiliating enough to one of my disposition; yet I could not have slept satisfied with the reflection of having, even unintentionally, injured any individual.  I have done all that could be done to repair the injury, and there the affair must end.  Whether we renew our intimacy or not is of very trivial consequence.

“My time has lately been much occupied with very different pursuits.  I have been transporting a servant,[56] who cheated me,—­rather a disagreeable event;—­performing in private theatricals;—­publishing a volume of poems (at the request of my friends, for their perusal);—­making love,—­and taking physic.  The two last amusements have not had the best effect in the world; for my attentions have been divided amongst so many fair damsels, and the drugs I swallow are of such variety in their composition, that between Venus and Aesculapius I am harassed to death.  However, I have still leisure to devote some hours to the recollections of past, regretted friendships, and in the interval to take the advantage of the moment, to assure you how much I am, and ever will be, my dearest Clare,