My dear Clarke,—I beg your acceptance of a
copy of my book. I do not send
one to Vincent, because tho’ he is one
of the few friends to whom one of my few copies, sent in this manner, would
otherwise have gone, he is among its patrons and purchasers, and therefore, I must,
even out of my sense of his kindness, omit him. But tho’ it is not altogether
out of his power to stretch a point for me in this way with his purse, I dare to
tell you that I know it to be yours and that your generosity, equally real with his
but unequal to show itself in the same manner, will give me credit for
understanding you thoroughly and believing that you understand me. I appeal to it also, with hand on heart, for giving me entire credit
when I say, that the sonnet in which you were mentioned, and the one mentioning
himself, were omitted solely in consequence of the severe law I had laid down for
myself in selecting my verses (as you will see in the Preface), and which, much
against my will, forced me to throw out others
| 242 | RECOLLECTIONS OF WRITERS |
| LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. | 243 |
“Robin Goodfellow’s winding-sheet” is worthy of Keats. I admire also the first eight lines of the sonnet beginning “I feel my spirit humbled,” only you should not have said “small as is the love I bear you:” you want to say such as is the value of it; and this is not what the other words can be made to imply. At least I think so. The allusion to the “room” is good. How good is truth, and how sure it is to tell! I have always admired, my dear Clarke, the way in which you took your fortunes, and the wise-heartedness with which you found out the jewel of good at the core of them, and known how to cherish it. It has made you superior to them, and gives you an advantage which many richer persons might envy. God bless you both, and all of you, and believe me,
