religious, and pretty, and the master is my particular friend. I
felt no wish for any thing but a poodle dog, which they kindly gave
me. Now, for a man of my courses not even to have _coveted_, is a
sign of great amendment. Pray pardon all this nonsense, and don't
'snub me when I'm in spirits.'

"Ever, yours, BN.

"Here's an impromptu for you by a 'person of quality,' written last
week, on being reproached for low spirits.

"When from the heart where Sorrow sits[84],
Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
And o'er the changing aspect flits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye:
Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink;
My Thoughts their dungeon know too well--
Back to my breast the wanderers shrink,
And bleed within their silent cell."

[Footnote 84: Now printed in his Works.]

* * * * *

LETTER 140. TO MR. MOORE.

"October 2. 1813.

"You have not answered some six letters of mine. This, therefore,
is my penultimate. I will write to you once more, but, after