ird Letter to an '_Idee_' that has come into my
head relating to those Memoirs of yourself which you say you are at some
loss to dispose of. I can easily understand that your Children, born and
bred (I think) in another World, would not take so much interest in them
as some of your old Friends who make part of your Recollections: as you
yourself occupy much of theirs. But then they are _old_ Friends; and are
not their Children, Executors and Assigns, as little to be depended on as
your own Kith and Kin? Well; I bethink me of one of your old Friends'
Children whom I could reckon upon for you, as I would for myself: Mowbray
Donne: the Son of one who you know loves you of old, and inheriting all
his Father's Loyalty to his Father's Friends. I am quite convinced that
he is to be perfectly depended upon in all respects for this purpose; for
his Love, his Honour, and his Intelligence. I should then make him one
day read the Memoirs to me--for I can't be assured of my own Eyes
interpreting your MS. without so much difficulty as would disturb one's
Enjoyment, or Appreciation, of such a Memoir. Unless indeed you should
one day come down yourself to my Chateau in dull Woodbridge, and there
read it over, and talk it over.

Well; this is what I seriously advise, always supposing that you have
decided not to print and publish the Memoir during your Life. No doubt
you could make money of it, beside 'bolting up' {30} such Accident as the
Future comprehends. The latter would, I know, be the only recommendation
to you.

I don't think you will do at all as I advise you. But I nevertheless
advise you as I should myself in case I had such a Record as you have to
leave behind me.--

Now once more for French Songs. When I was in Paris in 1830, just before
that Revolution, I stopped one Evening on the Boulevards by the Madeleine
to listen to a Man who was singing to his Barrel-organ. Several passing
'Blouses' had stopped also: not only to listen, but to join in the Songs,
having bought little '_Libretti_' of the words from the Musician. I
bought one too; for, I suppose, the smallest French Coin; and assisted in
the Song which the Man called out beforehand (as they do Hymns at
Church), and of which I enclose you the poor little Copy. '_Le Bon
Pasteur_, s'il vous plait'--I suppose the Circumstances: the 'beau
temps,' the pleasant Boulevards, the then so amiable People, all
contributed to the effect this Song had upon me; anyhow,