not inviting, but furnish’d within with every convenience.  Capital new locks to every door, capital grates in every room, with nothing to pay for incoming and the rent L10 less than the Islington one.  It was built a few years since at L1,100 expense, they tell me, and I perfectly believe it.  And I get it for L35 exclusive of moderate taxes.  We think ourselves most lucky.  It is not our intention to abandon Regent Street, and West End perambulations (monastic and terrible thought!) but occasionally to breathe the FRESHER AIR of the metropolis.  We shall put up a bedroom or two (all we want) for occasional ex-rustication, where we shall visit, not be visited.  Plays too we’ll see—­perhaps our own.  Urbani Sylvani, and Sylvan Urbanuses in turns.  Courtiers for a spurt, then philosophers.  Old homely tell-truths and learn-truths in the virtuous shades of Enfield.  Liars again and mocking gibers in the coffee-houses and resorts of London.  What can a mortal desire more for his bi-parted nature?

O the curds and cream you shall eat with us here! 
O the turtle soup and lobster sallads we shall devour with you there! 
O the old books we shall peruse here! 
O the new nonsense we shall trifle with over there! 
O Sir T. Browne!—­here. 
O Mr. Hood and Mr. Jerdan there! thine, C(urbanus) L(sylvanus)

            (ELIA ambo)—­

Inclos’d are verses which Emma sat down to write, her first, on the eve after your departure.  Of course they are only for Mrs. H.’s perusal.  They will shew you at least that one of our party is not willing to cut old friends.  What to call ’em I don’t know.  Blank verse they are not, because of the rhymes.—­Rhimes they are not, because of the blank verse.  Heroics they are not, because they are lyric, lyric they are not, because of the Heroic measure.  They must be called EMMAICS.—­

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The full charm of the long early letters, with their pleasant expatiations on literary themes can scarcely be sampled without doing violence.  The various editions in which the letters are obtainable will be found referred to in the bibliographical list at the end of this little book.  In illustration of their continued appreciation it may be mentioned that three editions have been published during the past year or so, each of which contains letters denied to the others.  The latest edition—­that of Mr. E. V. Lucas—­is also the fullest, both in the number of letters included and in the elaboration of its annotatory matter.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  Holograph letter to John Clare, “the Peasant Poet.”  Reduced facsimile from the original in the British Museum.]

     [Transcript of the Handwritten Letter To John Clare.]

     India house 31 Aug 1822