rayer would be of any avail. The prayer of a good man availeth--but--
I remain dear Mother, Your truly affectionate Son, H. COLERIDGE.
P.S. I have written to my father, but the letter waits transcribing, and I find that in my hurry, I have not said enough about the Gillmans, nor about you. Indeed, little about any thing but Homer. I do not mean to say much about matters, this bout to him. The letter is only an icebreaker.
I had a delightful kind letter from Mrs. Fox the other day --giving a charming account of Derwent and his family. I wish that dear good Lady would not say quite so much about my Genius, but Quakers are the greatest of all possible flatterers.
To MRS. HENRY NELSON COLERIDGE, I Downshire Place, Downshire Hill, Hampstead, London.
Greta hall, March 24, [Postmark 1834.]
My dear Sara
It was a sweet consolation to hear that your old playmate and cousin bride had seen you, and that you were at least well enough to take pleasure in the meeting: nor could the good tidings have transpired in a more fitting place than this identical parlour, where, changed as most things are, there are still some lingering relics of old times, of the happy times, which 'have left a joy for memory'--times, which are the most invaluable possession of my heart, and, paradoxical as it sound, the better for being flown. There is much and true philosophy in a saying of Farquhar's, though he puts it into the mouth of a ruined rake and fortune-hunter, that 'past pleasures are best'--'Not e'en the Gods upon the past have power.' To walk with reverted eyes, to live in the days that are gone, is commonly accounted to be the natural propensity of old age, or the acquired indulgence of affliction. For myself, I remember not a time when it was not so with me. Distant hopes were never the stuff of my day-dreams. If, in childhood, or, as was more frequently the case, in the turbulent period of transition betwixt boyhood and adolescence I sometimes felt in haste to be a man, no anticipated delight, no