LETTER 155. TO MR. MOORE.

"January 6. 1814.

"I have got a devil of a long story in the press, entitled 'The
Corsair,' in the regular heroic measure. It is a pirate's isle,
peopled with my own creatures, and you may easily suppose they do a
world of mischief through the three cantos. Now for your
dedication--if you will accept it. This is positively my last
experiment on public _literary_ opinion, till I turn my thirtieth
year,--if so be I flourish until that downhill period. I have a
confidence for you--a perplexing one to me, and, just at present,
in a state of abeyance in itself.

"However, we shall see. In the mean time, you may amuse yourself
with my suspense, and put all the justices of peace in requisition,
in case I come into your county with 'hackbut bent.'

"Seriously, whether I am to hear from her or him, it is a _pause_,
which I shall fill up with as few thoughts of my own as I can
borrow from other people. Any thing is better than stagnation; and
now, in the interregnum of my autumn and a strange summer
adventure, which I don't like to think of, (I don't mean * *'s,
however, which is laughable only,) the antithetical state of my
lucubrations makes me alive, and Macbeth can 'sleep no more:'--he
was lucky in getting rid of the drowsy sensation of waking again.

"Pray write to me. I must send you a copy of the letter of
dedication. When do you come out? I am sure we don't _clash_ this