Winter is to me (mild or harsh) always a great trial of the spirits.  I am ashamed not to have noticed your tribute to Woolman, whom we love so much; it is done in your good manner.  Your friend Tayler called upon me some time since, and seems a very amiable man.  His last story is painfully fine.  His book I “like;” it is only too stuffed with Scripture, too parsonish.  The best thing in it is the boy’s own story.  When I say it is too full of Scripture, I mean it is too full of direct quotations; no book can have too much of silent Scripture in it.  But the natural power of a story is diminished when the uppermost purpose in the writer seems to be to recommend something else,—­namely, Religion.  You know what Horace says of the Deus intersit?  I am not able to explain myself,—­you must do it for me.  My sister’s part in the “Leicester School” (about two thirds) was purely her own; as it was (to the same quantity) in the “Shakspeare Tales” which bear my name.  I wrote only the “Witch Aunt,” the “First Going to Church,” and the final story about “A little Indian girl” in a ship.  Your account of my black-balling amused me. I think, as Quakers, they did right. There are some things hard to be understood.  The more I think, the more I am vexed at having puzzled you with that letter; but I have been so out of letter-writing of late years that it is a sore effort to sit down to it; and I felt in your debt, and sat down waywardly to pay you in bad money.  Never mind my dulness; I am used to long intervals of it.  The heavens seem brass to me; then again comes the refreshing shower,—­

  “I have been merry twice and once ere now.”

You said something about Mr. Mitford in a late letter, which I believe I did not advert to.  I shall be happy to show him my Milton (it is all the show things I have) at any time he will take the trouble of a jaunt to Islington.  I do also hope to see Mr. Tayler there some day.  Pray say so to both.  Coleridge’s book is in good part printed, but sticks a little for more copy.  It bears an unsalable title,—­“Extracts from Bishop Leighton;” but I am confident there will be plenty of good notes in it,—­more of Bishop Coleridge than Leighton in it, I hope; for what is Leighton?  Do you trouble yourself about libel cases?  The decision against Hunt for the “Vision of Judgment” made me sick.  What is to become of the good old talk about our good old king,—­his personal virtues saving us from a revolution, etc.?  Why, none that think can utter it now.  It must stink.  And the “Vision” is as to himward such a tolerant, good-humored thing!  What a wretched thing a Lord Chief Justice is, always was, and will be!

Keep your good spirits up, dear B. B., mine will return; they are at present in abeyance, but I am rather lethargic than miserable.  I don’t know but a good horsewhip would be more beneficial to me than physic.  My head, without aching, will teach yours to ache.  It is well I am getting to the conclusion.  I will send a better letter when I am a better man.  Let me thank you for your kind concern for me (which I trust will have reason soon to be dissipated), and assure you that it gives me pleasure to hear from you.