Morning Post, and his undutiful father-in-law, with that rebellious
bastard of Scandinavian adoption, Bernadotte. Rogers wants me to go
with him on a crusade to the Lakes, and to besiege you on our way.
This last is a great temptation, but I fear it will not be in my
power, unless you would go on with one of us somewhere--no matter
where. It is too late for Matlock, but we might hit upon some
scheme, high life or low,--the last would be much the best for
amusement. I am so sick of the other, that I quite sigh for a
cider-cellar, or a cruise in a smuggler's sloop.

"You cannot wish more than I do that the Fates were a little more
accommodating to our parallel lines, which prolong ad infinitum
without coming a jot nearer. I almost wish I were married,
too--which is saying much. All my friends, seniors and juniors, are
in for it, and ask me to be godfather,--the only species of
parentage which, I believe, will ever come to my share in a lawful
way; and, in an unlawful one, by the blessing of Lucina, we can
never be certain,--though the parish may. I suppose I shall hear
from you to-morrow. If not, this goes as it is; but I leave room
for a P.S., in case any thing requires an answer. Ever, &c.

"No letter--_n'importe_. R. thinks the Quarterly will be at _me_
this time: if so, it shall be a war of extermination--no _quarter_.
From the youngest devil down to the oldest woman of that review,
all shall perish by one fatal lampoon. The ties of nature shall be
torn asunder, for I will not even spare my bookseller; nay, if one
were to include readers also, all the better."

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