You must have seen the account of his driving into the middle of the royal army, and the immediate effect of his pretty speeches.  And now if he don’t drub the allies, there is ’no purchase in money.’  If he can take France by himself, the devil’s in ’t if he don’t repulse the invaders, when backed by those celebrated sworders—­those boys of the blade, the Imperial Guard, and the old and new army.  It is impossible not to be dazzled and overwhelmed by his character and career.  Nothing ever so disappointed me as his abdication, and nothing could have reconciled me to him but some such revival as his recent exploit; though no one could anticipate such a complete and brilliant renovation.

“To your question, I can only answer that there have been some symptoms which look a little gestatory.  It is a subject upon which I am not particularly anxious, except that I think it would please her uncle, Lord Wentworth, and her father and mother.  The former (Lord W.) is now in town, and in very indifferent health.  You, perhaps, know that his property, amounting to seven or eight thousand a year, will eventually devolve upon Bell.  But the old gentleman has been so very kind to her and me, that I hardly know how to wish him in heaven, if he can be comfortable on earth.  Her father is still in the country.

     “We mean to metropolise to-morrow, and you will address your next
     to Piccadilly.  We have got the Duchess of Devon’s house there, she
     being in France.

“I don’t care what Power says to secure the property of the Song, so that it is not complimentary to me, nor any thing about ‘condescending’ or ’noble author’—­both ‘vile phrases,’ as Polonius says.

“Pray, let me hear from you, and when you mean to be in town.  Your continental scheme is impracticable for the present.  I have to thank you for a longer letter than usual, which I hope will induce you to tax my gratitude still further in the same way.

     “You never told me about ‘Longman’ and ‘next winter,’ and I am
     not a ‘mile-stone.’"[77]

[Footnote 76:  The death of his infant god-daughter, Olivia Byron Moore.]

[Footnote 77:  I had accused him of having entirely forgot that, in a preceding letter, I had informed him of my intention to publish with the Messrs. Longman in the ensuing winter, and added that, in giving him this information, I found I had been—­to use an elegant Irish metaphor—­“whistling jigs to a mile-stone.”]

* * * * *

LETTER 219.  TO MR. COLERIDGE.

     “Piccadilly, March 31. 1815.

     “Dear Sir,