object of the author is to prove me an Atheist and a systematic conspirator against law and government. 'Some of the verse is good; the prose I don't quite ' understand. He asserts that my "deleterious works" have had "an effect upon civil society, which requires, &c. &c. &c." and his own poetry. It is a lengthy poem, and a long preface, with a harmonious title-page. Like the fly in the fable, I seem to have 'got upon a wheel which makes much dust; but, unlike the said fly, I do not take it all for my own raising.

6

'A letter from Bella, which I answered. I shall be in love with her again, if I don't take care.

I shall begin a more regular system of reading

soon.

Thursday, March 17th. 'I have been sparring with Jackson for exercise this morning; and mean to continue and renew my acquaintance with the muffles. My chest, and arms, ' and wind are in very good plight, and I am not in flesh. ‹ I used to be a hard hitter, and my arms are very long for my height (5 feet 8 inches). At any rate, exercise is good, and this the severest of all; fencing ' and the broad-sword never fatigued me half so much. 'Redde the "Quarrels of Authors" (another sort of 'sparring)-a new work, by that most entertaining ' and researching writer, Israeli. They seem to be an 'irritable set, and I wish myself well out of it. " I'll 'not march through Coventry with them, that's flat.” What the devil had I to do with scribbling? It is 'too late to inquire, and all regret is useless. But, an' it were to do again,-I should write again, I suppose. Such is human nature, at least my share ' of it;-though I shall think better of myself, if I

' have sense to stop now. If I have a wife, and that wife has a son-by anybody-I will bring up mine heir in the most anti-poetical way-make him a lawyer, or a pirate, or anything. But, if he writes too, I shall be sure he is none of mine, and cut him 'off with a Bank token. Must write a letter three ' o'clock.

'Sunday, March 20th.

'I intended to go to Lady Hardwicke's, but won't. 'I always begin the day with a bias towards going to parties; but, as the evening advances, my stimulus 'fails, and I hardly ever go out-and, when I do, al'ways regret it. This might have been a pleasant 'one ;—at least, the hostess is a very superior woman. Lady Lansdowne's to-morrow-Lady Heathcote's, Wednesday. Um !-I must spur myself into going to some of them, or it will look like rudeness, and it is better to do as other people do confound them! 'Redde Machiavel, parts of Chardin, and Sismondi, ' and Bandello-by starts. Redde the Edinburgh, 44, just come out. In the beginning of the article ' on "Edgeworth's Patronage," I have gotten a high compliment, I perceive. Whether this is creditable 'to me, I know not; but it does honour to the editor, 'because he once abused me. Many a man will re'tract praise; none but a high-spirited mind will ' revoke its censure, or can praise the man it has once ' attacked. I have often, since my return to England, 'heard Jeffrey most highly commended by those who 'know him for things independent of his talents. I 'admire him for this-not because he has praised me (I have been so praised elsewhere and abused, alternately, that mere habit has rendered me as indifferent 'to both as a man at twenty-six can be to anything),

'but because he is, perhaps, the only man who, under 'the relations in which he and I stand, or stood, with regard to each other, would have had the liberality 'to act thus; none but a great soul dared hazard it. 'The height on which he stands has not made him giddy; a little scribbler would have gone on cavilling to the end of the chapter. As to the justice of 'his panegyric, that is matter of taste. There are plenty to question it, and glad, too, of the oppor'tunity.

6

Lord Erskine called to-day. He means to carry ' down his reflections on the war-or rather wars-to 'the present day. I trust that he will. Must send to 'Mr. Murray to get the binding of my copy of his pamphlet finished, as Lord E. has promised me to 'correct it, and add some marginal notes to it. Any'thing in his handwriting will be a treasure, which 'will gather compound interest from years. Erskine has high expectations of Mackintosh's promised History. Undoubtedly it must be a classic, when 'finished.

Sparred with Jackson again yesterday morning, ' and shall to-morrow. I feel all the better for it, in spirits, though my arms and shoulders are very stiff 'from it. Mem. to attend the pugilistic dinnerMarquess Huntley is in the chair.

'Lord Erskine thinks that ministers must be in peril ' of going out. So much the better for him. To me it is the same who are in or out;-we want something more than a change of ministers, and some day 'we will have it.

'I remember*, in riding from Chrisso to Castri

* Part of this passage has been already extracted, but I have allowed it to remain here in its original position, on account of the singularly sudden manner in which it is introduced.

(Delphos) along the sides of Parnassus, I saw six eagles in the air. It is uncommon to see so many 'together; and it was the number-not the species, 'which is common enough-that excited my atten'tion.

The last bird I ever fired at was an eaglet, on the ' shore of the Gulf of Lepanto, near Vostitza. It was only wounded, and I tried to save it, the eye was so bright; but it pined, and died in a few days; and I ' never did since, and never will, attempt the death of 'another bird. I wonder what put these two things ' into my head just now? I have been reading Sis'mondi, and there is nothing there that could induce the recollection.

' I am mightily taken with Braccio di Montone, Giovanni Galeazzo, and Eccelino. But the last is 'not Bracciaferro (of the same name), Count of Ravenna, whose history I want to trace. There is a 'fine engraving in Lavater, from a picture by Fuseli, ' of that Ezzelin, over the body of Meduna, punished by him for a hitch in her constancy during his absence in the Crusades. He was right-but I want to know 'the story.

6

Tuesday, March 22d. 'Last night, party at Lansdowne-house. To-night, 'party at Lady Charlotte Greville's-deplorable waste ' of time, and something of temper. Nothing imparted -nothing acquired-talking without ideas-if anything like thought in my mind, it was not on the sub'jects on which we were gabbling. Heigho!—and in 'this way half London pass what is called life. To'morrow there is Lady Heathcote's-shall I go? yes'to punish myself for not having a pursuit.

'Let me see what did I see? The only person