"Matthew. Why, I pray you, sir, make use of my study; it's at your service.
"Stephen. I thank you, sir; I shall be bold, I warrant you. Have you a stool there to be melancholy upon?"—Every Man in his Humour, Act 3, scene i.
The last expression would not make a bad motto.[1]
LETTER IX.
To THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK.
No new event has been added to my life since I wrote last: at least none which might not have taken place as well on the banks of the Thames as on those of the Serchio. I project soon a short excursion, of a week or so, to some of the neighbouring cities; and on the 10th of September we leave this place for Florence, when I shall at least be able to tell you of some things which you cannot see from your windows.
I have finished, by taking advantage of a few days of inspiration—which the Camœnæ have been lately very backward in conceding—the little poem I began sending to the press in London.[2] Ollier will send you the proofs. Its structure is slight and aëry; its subject ideal. The metre corresponds with the spirit of the poem, and varies with the flow of the feeling. I have translated,
