Victorianellina carina, buonina,—You must have
thought me a strange dilatory monster all this while; but in the first place, my
Keatses (as usual) were all borrowed, so that I had to
wait till I could get one of them back. In the second place, I did so, the fullest
(Galignani’s); when lo! and
behold, there was no Nile Sonnet! ergo, in the third place we commenced a search
amongst boxes and papers, Mrs. Hunt being
pretty sure that she had got it “somewhere;” but unfortunately, after
long and repeated ransacking, the somewhere has proved a nowhere. Now what is to be
done? I have an impression on my memory that all the three Sonnets were published
in the Examiner,
and as your father has got an Examiner (which I have not) perhaps you will find it there. I
regret extremely that I cannot meet with it, particularly as I was to be so much
honoured. Shelley’s comes on the next
page. Oh, what memories they recall! I am obliged to shut them up with a great
sigh, and turn my thoughts elsewhere. The Brummelliana came back with many thanks. There is to be a book
respecting the poor Beau, which doubtless we
shall all see. Tell Charles I have been
getting up a volume called “True
Poetry,” with a prefatory essay on the nature of ditto, and
extracts, with comments, from Spenser,
Marlow, Shakespeare, Beaumont and
Fletcher, Milton, Coleridge,
Shelley, and Keats.
I know he will be glad to hear this. It is a book of veritable pickles and
preserves; rather say, nectar and ambrosia; and there is not a man in England
| LEIGH HUNT AND HIS LETTERS. | 255 |
