It seems the Doctor is
invariably against the use of broken or mixed metaphor, which he
reprobates against the authority of Shakspeare himself. We next
discussed the question whether Pope was a poet. I find Dr. Gregory is of
opinion he was not, though Miss Seward does not at all concur with him
in this. We then sat upon the comparative merits of the ten translations
of "Pizarro," and Miss Bengey, or Benje, advised Mary to take two of
them home; she thought it might afford her some pleasure to compare them
_verbatim_; which we declined. It being now nine o'clock, wine and
macaroons were again served round, and we parted, with a promise to go
again next week, and meet the Miss Porters, who, it seems, have heard
much of Mr. Coleridge, and wish to meet _us_, because we are _his_
friends. I have been preparing for the occasion. I crowd cotton in my
ears. I read all the reviews and magazines of the past month against the
dreadful meeting, and I hope by these means to cut a tolerable
second-rate figure.
Pray let us have no more complaints about shadows. We are in a fair way,
_through you_, to surfeit sick upon them.
Our loves and respects to your host and hostess. Our dearest love to
Coleridge.
Take no thought about your proof-sheets; they shall be done as if
Woodfall himself did them. Pray send us word of Mrs. Coleridge and
little David Hartley, your little reality.
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