Chapter LVI: Letter 211: To Mr. Moore

"Seaham, Stockton-on-Tees, February 2. 1815.

"I have heard from London that you have left Chatsworth and all the
women full of 'entusymusy'[66] about you, personally and
poetically; and, in particular, that 'When first I met thee' has
been quite overwhelming in its effect. I told you it was one of the
best things you ever wrote, though that dog Power wanted you to
omit part of it. They are all regretting your absence at
Chatsworth, according to my informant--'all the ladies quite,' &c.
&c. &c. Stap my vitals!

"Well, now you have got home again--which I dare say is as
agreeable as a 'draught of cool small beer to the scorched palate
of a waking sot'--now you have got home again, I say, probably I
shall hear from you. Since I wrote last, I have been transferred to
my father-in-law's, with my lady and my lady's maid, &c. &c. &c.
and the treacle-moon is over, and I am awake, and find myself
married. My spouse and I agree to--and in--admiration. Swift says
'no _wise_ man ever married;' but, for a fool, I think it the most
ambrosial of all possible future states. I still think one ought to
marry upon _lease_; but am very sure I should renew mine at the
expiration, though next term were for ninety and nine years.

"I wish you would respond, for I am here 'oblitusque meorum
obliviscendus et illis.' Pray tell me what is going on in the way
of intriguery, and how the w----s and rogues of the upper Beggar's
Opera go on--or rather go off--in or after marriage; or who are
going to break any particular commandment. Upon this dreary coast,
we have nothing but county meetings and shipwrecks; and I have this
day dined upon fish, which probably dined upon the crews of several
colliers lost in the late gales. But I saw the sea once more in all
the glories of surf and foam,--almost equal to the Bay of Biscay,
and the interesting white squalls and short seas of Archipelago
memory.

"My papa, Sir Ralpho, hath recently made a speech at a Durham
tax-meeting; and not only at Durham, but here, several times since,
after dinner. He is now, I believe, speaking it to himself (I left
him in the middle) over various decanters, which can neither
interrupt him nor fall asleep,--as might possibly have been the
case with some of his audience. Ever thine, B.

"I must go to tea--damn tea. I wish it was Kinnaird's brandy, and
with you to lecture me about it."

[Footnote 66: It was thus that, according to his account, a certain celebrated singer and actor used frequently to pronounce the word "enthusiasm."]

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