[2] The forger, hanged Nov. 30, 1824. This was the last execution for
this offence.
LXXXV.
TO BERNARD BARTON.
_March_ 23, 1825.
Dear B. B.,--I have had no impulse to write, or attend to any single
object but myself for weeks past,--my single self, I by myself, I. I am
sick of hope deferred. The grand wheel is in agitation that is to turn
up my fortune; but round it rolls, and will turn up nothing. I have a
glimpse of freedom, of becoming a gentleman at large; but I am put off
from day to day. I have offered my resignation, and it is neither
accepted nor rejected. Eight weeks am I kept in this fearful suspense.
Guess what an absorbing stake I feel it. I am not conscious of the
existence of friends present or absent. The East India Directors alone
can be that thing to me or not. I have just learned that nothing will be
decided this week. Why the next? Why any week? It has fretted me into an
itch of the fingers; I rub 'em against paper, and write to you, rather
than not allay this scorbuta.
While I can write, let me adjure you to have no doubts of Irving. Let
Mr. Mitford drop his disrespect. Irving has prefixed a dedication (of a
missionary subject, first part) to Coleridge, the most beautiful,
cordial, and sincere. He there acknowledges his obligation to S. T. C.
for his knowledge of Gospel truths, the nature of a Christian Church,
etc.
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