Chapter XLIX: Letter 320: To Mr. Murray

"Venice, July 17. 1818.

"I suppose that Aglietti will take whatever you offer, but till his
return from Vienna I can make him no proposal; nor, indeed, have
you authorised me to do so. The three French notes _are_ by Lady
Mary; also another half-English-French-Italian. They are very
pretty and passionate; it is a pity that a piece of one of them is
lost. Algarotti seems to have treated her ill; but she was much his
senior, and all women are used ill--or say so, whether they are or
not.

"I shall be glad of your books and powders. I am still in waiting
for Hanson's clerk, but luckily not at Geneva. All my good friends
wrote to me to hasten _there_ to meet him, but not one had the good
sense or the good nature, to write afterwards to tell me that it
would be time and a journey thrown away, as he could not set off
for some months after the period appointed. If I _had_ taken the
journey on the general suggestion, I never would have spoken again
to one of you as long as I existed. I have written to request Mr.
Kinnaird, when the foam of his politics is wiped away, to extract a
positive answer from that * * * *, and not to keep me in a state of
suspense upon the subject. I hope that Kinnaird, who has my power
of attorney, keeps a look-out upon the gentleman, which is the more
necessary, as I have a great dislike to the idea of coming over to
look after him myself.

"I have several things begun, verse and prose, but none in much
forwardness. I have written some six or seven sheets of a Life,
which I mean to continue, and send you when finished. It may
perhaps serve for your projected editions. If you would tell me
exactly (for I know nothing, and have no correspondents except on
business) the state of the reception of our late publications, and
the feeling upon them, without consulting any delicacies (I am too
seasoned to require them), I should know how and in what manner to
proceed. I should not like to give them too much, which may
probably have been the case already; but, as I tell you, I know
nothing.

"I once wrote from the fulness of my mind and the love of fame,
(not as an _end_, but as a _means_, to obtain that influence over
men's minds which is power in itself and in its consequences,) and
now from habit and from avarice; so that the effect may probably be
as different as the inspiration. I have the same facility, and
indeed necessity, of composition, to avoid idleness (though
idleness in a hot country is a pleasure), but a much greater
indifference to what is to become of it, after it has served my
immediate purpose. However, I should on no account like to--but I
won't go on, like the Archbishop of Granada, as I am very sure that
you dread the fate of Gil Blas, and with good reason. Yours, &c.

"P.S. I have written some very savage letters to Mr. Hobhouse,
Kinnaird, to you, and to Hanson, because the silence of so long a
time made me tear off my remaining rags of patience. I have seen
one or two late English publications which are no great things,
except Rob Roy. I shall be glad of Whistlecraft."

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