My dear Darwin,

We will meet again by God— The accusing Angel that flew up to Heavens Chancery with the oath, etcet. Vide Sterne.¹ But we must meet again yet alas not in Cambridge— Contrive a time and place and I will be there—

I answer your kind letter on the spirits engendered by a pint of Porter, The days of gin are over. I answer your generous remittance with a beggars gratitude with thanks, though I am not yet practised enough in the profession not to feel ashamed while I write. Do not think meanly of me. I assure you I had the hard choice of accepting your kindness or a Jail, for I had already pawned my watch. God bless you. Things will soon I trust be better with me. I have not yet heard from the reviewers, but I have shown my attempts to a man well versed in the profession, and he says all sorts of fine things concerning them I begin to think that I shall be the next Poet Laureate— I lie rather when I say that I feel shame at your kindness. I am perhaps rather ashamed of my necessities but I am proud indeed of the attachment which your kindness shows.— I must not be too grateful or you will cry out Damn the Fellow he never means to pay me I have written to Hamilton² but have received no answer so I begin to fear he is offended with me. I trust it is not so for in these times it is much harder to get a friend than to lose one and I believe Hamilton to be a thoroughly good fellow— You ask what my plan is? It is to stay here certainly one fortnight more when I shall know whether I can do any thing or not. If I fail I suppose I must go home, if I succeed I shall write to my Father and tell him I want nothing of him for the next two years except payment of Debts a List of which I shall transmit, and then live on in my garret scribbling and hoping for better things till the two years have crept away. Any thing rather than Somersetshire and old recol- lections— I hope you have supported Cookesley’s character in my absence but I perceive that you have not convinced Cameron— And you dare to lift up your voice against the immortal Shelley, as if he was an Insect and to find fault with that Most perfect of lines Most Musical of Mourners weep again³ I wish I had you here in my garret where there is no room to run away. I would persecute you for hours— Most humanised of Insect kill⁠⟨⁠ers⁠⟩⁠ blush again— I have just completed nine of the most sentimental stanzas ever edited for which I intend to get five guineas, so a sneer at Poetry touches at once my fruits and my fortunes Write soon, like a gentleman as you are— I mean to have a fly at Tennysons Poems if I can, they have been lauded in the Westminster—⁴

Yours most sincerely H Matthew

Like is not an adverb but a preposition when used as you use it Vide Murray⁵ Page 102 Lowth⁶ page 21 Harris⁷ page 60 Cobbet⁸ passim—

God bless you old boy—and I do believe in God— Yours ever | Henry Matthew