“I have not answered your letter for a time; and, at present, the reply to part of it might extend to such a length, that I shall delay it till it can be made in person, and then I will shorten it as much as I can.

“In the mean time, I am at war ‘with all the world and his wife;’ or rather, ‘all the world and my wife’ are at war with me, and have not yet crushed me,—­whatever they may do.  I don’t know that in the course of a hair-breadth existence I was ever, at home or abroad, in a situation so completely uprooting of present pleasure, or rational hope for the future, as this same.  I say this, because I think so, and feel it.  But I shall not sink under it the more for that mode of considering the question—­I have made up my mind.

“By the way, however, you must not believe all you hear on the subject; and don’t attempt to defend me.  If you succeeded in that, it would be a mortal, or an immortal, offence—­who can bear refutation?  I have but a very short answer for those whom it concerns; and all the activity of myself and some vigorous friends have not yet fixed on any tangible ground or personage, on which or with whom I can discuss matters, in a summary way, with a fair pretext;—­though I nearly had nailed one yesterday, but he evaded by—­what was judged by others—­a satisfactory explanation.  I speak of circulators—­against whom I have no enmity, though I must act according to the common code of usage, when I hit upon those of the serious order.

“Now for other matters—­poesy, for instance.  Leigh Hunt’s poem is a devilish good one—­quaint, here and there, but with the substratum of originality, and with poetry about it, that will stand the test.  I do not say this because he has inscribed it to me, which I am sorry for, as I should otherwise have begged you to review it in the Edinburgh.[91] It is really deserving of much praise, and a favourable critique in the E.R. would but do it justice, and set it up before the public eye where it ought to be.

“How are you? and where?  I have not the most distant idea what I am going to do myself, or with myself—­or where—­or what.  I had, a few weeks ago, some things to say that would have made you laugh; but they tell me now that I must not laugh, and so I have been very serious—­and am.

     “I have not been very well—­with a liver complaint—­but am much
     better within the last fortnight, though still under Iatrical
     advice.  I have latterly seen a little of * * * *

“I must go and dress to dine.  My little girl is in the country, and, they tell me, is a very fine child, and now nearly three months old.  Lady Noel (my mother-in-law, or, rather, at law) is at present overlooking it.  Her daughter (Miss Milbanke that was) is, I believe, in London with her father.  A Mrs. C. (now a kind of housekeeper and spy of Lady N.’s) who,