Says he, 'Can you
keep a secret?' 'Certainly--positively--my wife's out of town!' 'Then--I
am going to be MARRIED!' 'The devil! I shall have no poem this winter
then?' 'No.' 'Who is the lady who is to do me this injury?' 'Miss
Milbanke--do you know her?' 'No, my lord.'
"So here is news for you! I fancy the lady is rich, noble, and
beautiful; but this shall be my day's business to enquire about. Oh!
how he did curse poor Lady C---- as the fiend who had interrupted all
his projects, and who would do so now if possible. I think he hinted
that she had managed to interrupt this connexion two years ago. He
thought she was abroad, and, to his torment and astonishment, he finds
her not only in England, but in London. He says he has written some
small poems which his friends think beautiful, particularly one of eight
lines, his very best--all of which, I believe, I am to have; and,
moreover, he gives me permission to publish the octavo edition of 'Lara'
with his name, which secures, I think, L700 to you and me. So Scott's
poem is announced ['Lord of the Isles'], and I am cut out. I wish I had
been in Scotland six weeks ago, and I might have come in for a share.
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