“I wish very much I could have seen you; I am in a state of ludicrous tribulation.
“Why do you say that I dislike your poesy? I have expressed no such opinion, either in print or elsewhere. In scribbling, myself, it was necessary for me to find fault, and I fixed upon the trite charge of immorality, because I could discover no other, and was so perfectly qualified, in the innocence of my heart, to ‘pluck that mote from my neighbour’s eye.’
“I feel very, very much obliged by your approbation; but, at this moment, praise, even your praise, passes by me like ‘the idle wind.’ I meant and mean to send you a copy the moment of publication; but now, I can think of nothing but damned deceitful,—delightful woman, as Mr. Liston says in the Knight of Snowdon.
