“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 dinner:—­Marquess 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[3], in riding from Chrisso to Castri (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 attention.

“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 Sismondi, 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.

[Footnote 3:  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.]

“Tuesday, March 22.

“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 any thing like thought in my mind, it was not on the subjects 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 who much struck me was Lady S* d’s eldest daughter, Lady C.L.  They say she is _not_ pretty.  I don’t know—­every thing is pretty that pleases; but there is an air of _soul_ about her—­and her colour changes—­and there is that shyness of the antelope (which I delight in) in her manner so much, that I observed her more than I did any other woman in the rooms, and only looked at any thing else when I thought she might perceive and feel embarrassed by my scrutiny.  After all, there may be something of association in this.  She is a friend of Augusta’s, and whatever she loves I can’t help liking.