I SEND you all of Coleridge’s letters to me, which I have preserved: some of them are upon the subject of my play. I also send you Kemble’s two letters, and the prompter’s courteous epistle, with a curious critique on “Pride’s Cure,” by a young physician from Edinbro’, who modestly suggests quite another kind of a plot. These are monuments of my disappointment which I like to preserve.
In Coleridge’s letters you will find a good deal of amusement, to see genuine talent struggling against a pompous display of it. I also send you the Professor’s letter to me (careful Professor! to conceal his name even from his correspondent), ere yet the Professor’s pride was cured. Oh monstrous and almost satanical pride!
You will carefully keep all (except the Scotch Doctor’s, which burn) in statu quo, till I come to claim mine own.
For Mister Manning, Teacher of Mathematics and the Black Arts. There is another letter in the inside cover of the book opposite the blank leaf that was.
Mind this goes for a letter. (Acknowledge it directly, if only in ten words.)
