DEAR B. B.—my address is 34 Southamptn Buildings, Holborn. For God’s sake do not let me [be] pester’d with Annuals. They are all rogues who edit them, and something else who write in them. I am still alone, and very much out of sorts, and cannot spur up my mind to writing. The sight of one of those Year Books makes me sick. I get nothing by any of ’em, not even a Copy—
Thank you for your warm interest about my little volume, for the critics on which
I care [? not] the 5 hundred thousandth part of the tythe of a half-farthing. I
am too old a Militant for that. How noble, tho’, in R. S. to come forward for an old friend, who
had treated him so unworthily. Moxon has
a shop without customers, I a Book without readers. But what a clamour against
a poor collection of album verses, as if we had put forth an Epic. I cannot
scribble a long Letter—I am, when not at foot, very desolate, and
| 1830 | SOUTHEY’S FRIENDLY RALLY | 859 |
What a beautiful Autumn morning this is, if it was but with me as in times past when the candle of the Lord shined round me—
I cannot even muster enthusiasm to admire the French heroism.
In better times I hope we may some day meet, and discuss an
old poem or two. But if you’d have me not sick
no more of Annuals.
Love to Lucy and A. K. always.
