young one; and I think,--though wild and more oriental than he would be,
had he seen the scenes where he has placed his tale,--that he has much
talent, and, certainly, fire enough.

"Received a very singular epistle; and the mode of its conveyance,
through Lord H.'s hands, as curious as the letter itself. But it was
gratifying and pretty.


"Sunday, February 27.

"Here I am, alone, instead of dining at Lord H.'s, where I was
asked,--but not inclined to go anywhere. Hobhouse says I am growing a
_loup garou_,--a solitary hobgoblin. True;--'I am myself alone.' The
last week has been passed in reading--seeing plays--now and then
visiters--sometimes yawning and sometimes sighing, but no writing,--save
of letters. If I could always read, I should never feel the want of
society. Do I regret it?--um!--'Man delights not me,' and only one
woman--at a time.

"There is something to me very softening in the presence of a
woman,--some strange influence, even if one is not in love with
them,--which I cannot at all account for, having no very high opinion of
the sex. But yet,--I always feel in better humour with myself and every
thing else, if there is a woman within ken. Even Mrs. Mule[2], my
fire-lighter,--the most ancient and withered of her kind,--and (except
to myself) not the best-tempered--always makes me laugh,--no difficult
task when I am 'i' the vein.'

"Heigho! I would I were in mine island!--I am not well; and yet I look