perfect peace with all the poetical fraternity: or, at least, if I
dislike any, it is not _poetically_, but _personally_. Surely the field
of thought is infinite; what does it signify who is before or behind in
a race where there is no _goal_? The temple of fame is like that of the
Persians, the universe; our altar, the tops of mountains. I should be
equally content with Mount Caucasus, or Mount Anything; and those who
like it, may have Mount Blanc or Chimborazo, without my envy of their
elevation.

"I think I may _now_ speak thus; for I have just published a poem, and
am quite ignorant whether it is _likely_ to be _liked_ or not. I have
hitherto heard little in its commendation, and no one can _downright_
abuse it to one's face, except in print. It can't be good, or I should
not have stumbled over the threshold, and blundered in my very title.
But I began it with my heart full of * * *, and my head of
oriental_ities_ (I can't call them _isms_), and wrote on rapidly.

"This journal is a relief. When I am tired--as I generally am--out comes
this, and down goes every thing. But I can't read it over; and God knows
what contradictions it may contain. If I am sincere with myself (but I
fear one lies more to one's self than to any one else), every page
should confute, refute, and utterly abjure its _predecessor_.

"Another scribble from Martin Baldwin the petitioner; I have neither
head nor nerves to present it. That confounded supper at Lewis's has
spoiled my digestion and my philanthropy. I have no more charity than a
cruet of vinegar. Would I were an ostrich, and dieted on fire-irons,--or
any thing that my gizzard could get the better of.

"To-day saw W. His uncle is dying, and W. don't much affect our Dutch
determinations. I dine with him on Thursday, provided _l'oncle_ is not
dined upon, or peremptorily bespoke by the posthumous epicures before
that day. I wish he may recover--not for _our_ dinner's sake, but to
disappoint the undertaker, and the rascally reptiles that may well
wait, since they _will_ dine at last.

"Gell called--he of Troy--after I was out. Mem.--to return his visit.
But my Mems. are the very land-marks of forgetfulness;--something like a
light-house, with a ship wrecked under the nose of its lantern. I never
look at a Mem. without seeing that I have remembered to forget. Mem.--I
have forgotten to pay Pitt's taxes, and suppose I shall be surcharged.
'An I do not turn rebel when thou art king'--oon