Chapter LXXVI: Letter 188: To Allsop

Blandford-place, March 1st, 1821.

My dearest Friend,

God bless you, and all who are dear and near to you! but as to your pens, they seem to have been plucked from the _devil's_ pinions, and slit and shaped by the blunt edge of the broad sprays of his antlers. Of the ink (_i.e._ your inkstand), it would be base to complain. I hate abusing folks in their _absence_. Do you know, my dear friend, that having sundry little snug superstitions of my own, I shrewdly suspect that whimsical ware of that sort is connected with the state and garniture of your paper-staining machinery.--Is it so? Well, I have seen Murray, and he has been civil, I may say kind, in his manners. Is this your knock?--Is it you on the stairs?--No. I explained my full purpose to him, namely,--that he should take me and my concerns, past and future, for print and reprint, under his umbrageous foliage, though the original name of his great predecessor in the patronage of genius, who gave the name of Augustan to all happy epochs--Octavius would be more appropriate--and he promises,--_cætera desunt_.