“To-morrow there is a party of purple at the ‘blue’ Miss * * ’s.  Shall I go? um!—­I don’t much affect your blue-bottles;—­but one ought to be civil.  There will be, ‘I guess now’ (as the Americans say), the Staels and Mackintoshes—­good—­the * * s and * * * s—­not so good—­the * * * s, &c. &c.—­good for nothing.  Perhaps that blue-winged Kashmirian butterfly of book-learning, Lady * * * *, will be there.  I hope so; it is a pleasure to look upon that most beautiful of faces.

“Wrote to H.:—­he has been telling that I ——­[99].  I am sure, at least, I did not mention it, and I wish he had not.  He is a good fellow, and I obliged myself ten times more by being of use than I did him,—­and there’s an end on ’t.

“Baldwin is boring me to present their King’s Bench petition.  I presented Cartwright’s last year; and Stanhope and I stood against the whole House, and mouthed it valiantly—­and had some fun and a little abuse for our opposition.  But ‘I am not i’ th’ vein’ for this business.  Now, had * * been here, she would have made me do it. There is a woman, who, amid all her fascination, always urged a man to usefulness or glory.  Had she remained, she had been my tutelar genius.

“Baldwin is very importunate—­but, poor fellow, ’I can’t get out, I can’t get out—­said the starling.’  Ah, I am as bad as that dog Sterne, who preferred whining over ’a dead ass to relieving a living mother’—­villain—­hypocrite—­slave—­sycophant! but I am no better.  Here I cannot stimulate myself to a speech for the sake of these unfortunates, and three words and half a smile of * * had she been here to urge it, (and urge it she infallibly would—­at least she always pressed me on senatorial duties, and particularly in the cause of weakness,) would have made me an advocate, if not an orator.  Curse on Rochefoucault for being always right!  In him a lie were virtue,—­or, at least, a comfort to his readers.

“George Byron has not called to-day; I hope he will be an admiral, and, perhaps, Lord Byron into the bargain.  If he would but marry, I would engage never to marry myself, or cut him out of the heirship.  He would be happier, and I should like nephews better than sons.

“I shall soon be six-and-twenty (January 22d, 1814).  Is there any thing in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?

                  “Oh Gioventu! 
    Oh Primavera! gioventu dell’ anno. 
    Oh Gioventu! primavera della vita.

[Footnote 99:  Two or three words are here scratched out in the manuscript, but the import of the sentence evidently is that Mr. Hodgson (to whom the passage refers) had been revealing to some friends the secret of Lord Byron’s kindness to him.]

“Sunday, December 5.