and pride of thus conversing with you.

You did not tell me whether I was to include the Conciones ad Populum in
my remarks on your poems. They are not unfrequently sublime, and I think
you could not do better than to turn 'em into verse,--if you have
nothing else to do. Allen I am sorry to say is a _confirmed_ Atheist.
Stodart, or Stothard, a cold hearted well bred conceited disciple of
Godwin, does him no good. His wife has several daughters (one of 'em as
old as himself). Surely there is something unnatural in such a marriage.
How I sympathise with you on the dull duty of a reviewer, and heartily
damn with you Ned Evans and the Prosodist. I shall however wait
impatiently for the articles in the Crit. Rev., next month, because they
are _yours_. Young Evans (W. Evans, a branch of a family you were once
so intimate with) is come into our office, and sends his love to you.
Coleridge, I devoutly wish that Fortune, who has made sport with you so
long, may play one freak more, throw you into London, or some spot near
it, and there snug-ify you for life. 'Tis a selfish but natural wish for
me, cast as I am "on life's wide plain, friend-less." Are you acquainted
with Bowles? I see, by his last Elegy (written at Bath), you are near
neighbours. "And I can think I can see the groves again--was it the
voice of thee--Twas not the voice of thee, my buried friend--who dries
with her dark locks the tender tear"--are touches as true to nature as
any in his other Elegy, written at the hot wells, about poor Russell,
&c.--You are doubtless acquainted with it.--Thursday.

I do not know that I entirely agree with you in your stricture upon my
Sonnet to Innocence. To men whose hearts are not quite deadened by their
commerce with the world, Innocence (no longer familiar) becomes an awful
idea. So I felt when I wrote it. Your other censures (qualified and
sweeten'd, tho', with praises somewhat extravagant) I perfectly coincide