“This is the fourth letter I have begun to you within the month.  Whether I shall finish or not, or burn it like the rest, I know not.  When we meet, I will explain why I have not written—­why I have not asked you here, as I wished—­with a great many other whys and wherefores, which will keep cold.  In short, you must excuse all my seeming omissions and commissions, and grant me more remission than St. Athanasius will to yourself, if you lop off a single shred of mystery from his pious puzzle.  It is my creed (and it may be St. Athanasius’s too) that your article on T * * will get somebody killed, and that, on the Saints, get him d——­d afterwards, which will be quite enow for one number.  Oons, Tom! you must not meddle just now with the incomprehensible; for if Johanna Southcote turns out to be * * *

“Now for a little egotism.  My affairs stand thus.  To-morrow, I shall know whether a circumstance of importance enough to change many of my plans will occur or not.  If it does not, I am off for Italy next month, and London, in the mean time, next week.  I have got back Newstead and twenty-five thousand pounds (out of twenty-eight paid already),—­as a ‘sacrifice,’ the late purchaser calls it, and he may choose his own name.  I have paid some of my debts, and contracted others; but I have a few thousand pounds, which I can’t spend after my own heart in this climate, and so, I shall go back to the south.  Hobhouse, I think and hope, will go with me; but, whether he will or not, I shall.  I want to see Venice, and the Alps, and Parmesan cheeses, and look at the coast of Greece, or rather Epirus, from Italy, as I once did—­or fancied I did—­that of Italy, when off Corfu.  All this, however, depends upon an event, which may, or may not, happen.  Whether it will, I shall know probably to-morrow, and, if it does, I can’t well go abroad at present.

     “Pray pardon this parenthetical scrawl.  You shall hear from me
     again soon;—­I don’t call this an answer.  Ever most
     affectionately,” &c.

The “circumstance of importance,” to which he alludes in this letter, was his second proposal for Miss Milbanke, of which he was now waiting the result.  His own account, in his Memoranda, of the circumstances that led to this step is, in substance, as far as I can trust my recollection, as follows.  A person, who had for some time stood high in his affection and confidence, observing how cheerless and unsettled was the state both of his mind and prospects, advised him strenuously to marry; and, after much discussion, he consented.  The next point for consideration was—­who was to be the object of his choice; and while his friend mentioned one lady, he himself named Miss Milbanke.  To this, however, his adviser strongly objected,—­remarking to him, that Miss Milbanke had at present no fortune, and that his embarrassed affairs would not allow