"I am now not quite alone, having an old acquaintance and school-fellow with me, so _old_, indeed, that we have nothing _new_ to say on any subject, and yawn at each other in a sort of _quiet inquietude_. I hear nothing from Cawthorn, or Captain Hobhouse; and _their quarto_--Lord have mercy on mankind! We come on like Cerberus with our triple publications. As for _myself_, by _myself_, I must be satisfied with a comparison to _Janus_. "I am not at all pleased with Murray for showing the MS.; and I am certain Gifford must see it in the same light that I do. His praise is nothing to the purpose: what could he say? He could not spit in the face of one who had praised him in every possible way. I must own that I wish to have the impression removed from his mind, that I had any concern in such a paltry transaction. The more I think, the more it disquiets me; so I will say no more about it. It is bad enough to be a scribbler, without having recourse to such shifts to extort praise, or deprecate censure. It is anticipating, it is begging, kneeling, adulating,--the devil! the devil! the devil! and all without my wish, and contrary to my express desire. I wish Murray had been tied to _Payne_'s neck when he jumped into the Paddington Canal[27], and so tell him,--_that_ is the proper receptacle for publishers. You have thoughts of settling in the country, why not try Notts.? I think there are places which would suit you in all points, and then you are nearer the metropolis. But of this anon. I am, yours," &c. [Footnote 27: In a note on his "Hints from Horace," he thus humorously applies this incident:--