Shelley with the MS. of "Childe Harold." I had no sooner got the
quiet possession of it than, trembling with auspicious hope about it, I
carried it direct to Mr. Gifford. He has been exceedingly ill with
jaundice, and unable to write or do anything. He was much pleased by my
attention. I called upon him today. He said he was unable to leave off
last night, and that he had sat up until he had finished every line of
the canto. It had actually agitated him into a fever, and he was much
worse when I called. He had persisted this morning in finishing the
volume, and he pronounced himself infinitely more delighted than when he
first wrote to me. He says that what you have heretofore published is
nothing to this effort. He says also, besides its being the most
original and interesting, it is the most finished of your writings; and
he has undertaken to correct the press for you.
Never, since my intimacy with Mr. Gifford, did I see him so heartily
pleased, or give one-fiftieth part of the praise, with one-thousandth
part of the warmth. He speaks in ecstasy of the Dream--the whole volume
beams with genius.
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