I have no energy whatever, I am very miserable. I loathe domestic hearths. I yearn to be a vagabond. Why can't I marry Mary?[38] Why have I seven children--not engaged at sixpence a-night apiece, and dismissable for ever, if they tumble down, not taken on for an indefinite time at a vast expense, and never,--no never, never,--wearing lighted candles round their heads.[39] I am deeply miserable. A real house like this is insupportable, after that canvas farm wherein I was so happy. What is a humdrum dinner at half-past five, with nobody (but John) to see me eat it, compared with _that_ soup, and the hundreds of pairs of eyes that watched its disappearance? Forgive this tear.[40] It is weak and foolish, I know. Pray let me divide the little excursional excesses of the journey among the gentlemen, as I have always done before, and pray believe that I have had the sincerest pleasure and gratification in your co-operation and society, valuable and interesting on all public accounts, and personally of no mean worth, nor held in slight regard. You had a sister once, when we were young and happy--I think they called her Emma. If she remember a bright being who once flitted like a vision before her, entreat her to bestow a thought upon the "Gas" of departed joys. I can write no more. Y. G.[41] THE (DARKENED) G. L. B.[42] P.S.--"I am completely _blase_--literally used up. I am dying for excitement. Is it possible that nobody can suggest anything to make my heart beat violently, my hair stand on end--but no!" Where did I hear those words (so truly applicable to my forlorn condition) pronounced by some delightful creature? In a previous state of existence, I believe. Oh, Memory, Memory! Ever yours faithfully. Y--no C. G.--no D. C. D. I think it is--but I don't know--"there's nothing in it." FOOTNOTES: [36] This and following letters to Mr. and Mrs. Cowden Clarke appeared in a volume entitled "Recollections of Writers." [37] The house in which Shakespeare was born, at Stratford-on-Avon. [38] A character in "Used Up." [39] As fairies in "Merry Wives." [40] A huge blot of smeared ink. [41] "Young Gas."} [42] "Gas-Light Boy."} Names he had playfully given himself. 1849. [Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.] DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _23rd February, 1849._ MY DEAR SIR EDWARD, I have not written sooner to thank you for "King Arthur" because I felt sure you would prefer my reading it before I should do so, and because I wished to have an opportunity of reading it with the sincerity and attention which such a composition demands.