In answer to my inquiries, he put the proofs into my hands. I read them twice attentively, for the poems were very short; and I told him there were some good lines, some bright thoughts, but there were likewise many irregularities and incongruities. I added that correctness was important in all compositions, but it constituted the essence of short ones; and that it surely would be imprudent to bring his little book out so hastily; and then I pointed out the errors and defects.
He listened in silence with much attention, and did not dispute what I said, except that he remarked faintly that it would not be known that he was the author, and therefore the publication could not do him any harm.
I answered that, although it might not be disadvantageous to be the unknown author of an unread work, it certainly could not be beneficial.
He made no reply; and we immediately went out, and strolled about the public walks.
We dined and returned to his rooms, where we conversed on different subjects. He did not mention his poems, but they occupied his thoughts; for he did not fall asleep as usual. Whilst we were at tea, he said abruptly, “I think you disparage my poems. Tell me what you dislike in them, for I have forgotten.”
I took the proofs from the place where I had left them, and looking over them, repeated the former objections, and suggested others. He acquiesced; and, after a pause, asked, might they be altered? I assented.
“I will alter them.”
“It will be better to re-write them; a short poem should be of the first impression.”
Some time afterwards he anxiously inquired, “But in their present form you do not think they ought to be published?”
I had been looking over the proofs again, and I answered, “Only as burlesque poetry;” and I read a part, changing it a little here and there.