Lloyd and you too, so you must convey as much interesting intelligence
as this may contain, or be thought to contain, to him and Sophia, with
my dearest love and remembrances.

By the by, I think you and Sophia both incorrect with regard to the
_title_ of the _play_. Allowing your objection (which is not necessary,
as pride may be, and is in real life often, cured by misfortunes not
directly originating from its own acts, as Jeremy Taylor will tell you a
naughty desire is sometimes sent to cure it--I know you read these
_practical divines_). But allowing your objection, does not the
betraying of his father's secret directly spring from pride?--from the
pride of wine and a full heart, and a proud over-stepping of the
ordinary rules of morality, and contempt of the prejudices of mankind,
which are not to bind superior souls--"as _trust_ in _the matter_ of
_secret_ all _ties_ of _blood_, &c., &c., keeping of _promises_, the
feeble mind's religion, binding our _morning knowledge_ to the
performance of what _last night's ignorance_ spake"--does he not prate,
that "_Great Spirits_" must do more than die for their friend--does not
the pride of wine incite him to display some evidence of friendship,
which its own irregularity shall make great? This I know, that I meant
his punishment not alone to be a cure for his daily and habitual
_pride_, but the direct consequence and appropriate punishment of a
particular act of pride.

If you do not understand it so, it is my fault in not explaining my
meaning.

I have not seen Coleridge since, and scarcely expect to see
him,--perhaps he has been at Cambridge. I dined with him in town and
breakfasted with him and Priscilla, who you may tell Charles has