pleasant, let me add, because it will confer a whimsical importance on
me to sit in judgment upon your rhimes. First tho', let me thank you
again and again in my own and my sister's name for your invitations.
Nothing could give us more pleasure than to come, but (were there no
other reasons) while my Brother's leg is so bad it is out of the
question. Poor fellow, he is very feverish and light headed, but
Cruikshanks has pronounced the symptoms favorable, and gives us every
hope that there will be no need of amputation. God send, not. We are
necessarily confined with him the afternoon and evening till very late,
so that I am stealing a few minutes to write to you. Thank you for your
frequent letters, you are the only correspondent and I might add the
only friend I have in the world. I go no where and have no acquaintance.
Slow of speech, and reserved of manners, no one seeks or cares for my
society and I am left alone. Allen calls only occasionally, as tho' it
were a duty rather, and seldom stays ten minutes. Then judge how
thankful I am for your letters. Do not, however, burthen yourself with
the correspondence. I trouble you again so soon, only in obedience to
your injunctions. Complaints apart, proceed we to our task. I am called
away to tea, thence must wait upon my brother, so must delay till
to-morrow. Farewell--Wednesday.

Thursday. I will first notice what is new to me. 13th page. "The
thrilling tones that concentrate the soul" is a nervous line, and the 6
first lines of page 14 are very pretty. The 21st effusion a perfect
thing. That in the manner of Spencer is very sweet, particularly at the
close. The 35th effusion is most exquisite--that line in particular,
"And tranquil muse upon tranquillity." It is the very reflex pleasure
that distinguishes the tranquillity of a thinking being from that of a
shepherd--a modern one I would be understood to mean--a Dametas; one
that keeps other people's sheep. Certainly, Coleridge, your letter from