DEAR B. B.—My spirits are so tumultuary with the novelty of my recent emancipation, that I have scarce steadiness of hand, much more mind, to compose a letter.
The little bird that wings the sky Knows no such Liberty! |
I have been describing my feelings as well as I can to Wordswth. in a long letter, and don’t care to repeat. Take it briefly that for a few days I was painfully oppressed by so mighty a change, but it is becoming daily more natural to me.
I went and sat among ’em all at my old 33 years desk yester morning; and deuce take me if I had not yearnings at leaving all my old pen and ink fellows, merry sociable lads, at leaving them in the Lurch, fag, fag, fag.
The comparison of my own superior felicity gave me any thing but pleasure.
B. B., I would not serve another 7 years for seven hundred thousand pounds!
I have got £441 net for life, sanctioned by Act of Parliament, with a provision for Mary if she survives me.
I will live another 50 years; or, if I live but 10, they
will be
| 1825 | “BARBARA S.” | 677 |
Tell me how you like “Barbara S.”—will it be received in atonement for the foolish Vision, I mean by the Lady?
Apropos, I never saw Mrs. Crauford in
my life, nevertheless ’tis all true of Somebody. Address me in future
Colebrook Cottage,
Islington.
I am really nervous (but that will wear off) so take this brief announcement.
