“Saw * * yesterday.  I have not kept my appointment at Middleton, which has not pleased him, perhaps; and my projected voyage with * * will, perhaps, please him less.  But I wish to keep well with both.  They are instruments that don’t do, in concert; but, surely, their separate tones are very musical, and I won’t give up either.

“It is well if I don’t jar between these great discords.  At present I stand tolerably well with all, but I cannot adopt their dislikes;—­so many sets.  Holland’s is the first;—­every thing distingue is welcome there, and certainly the ton of his society is the best.  Then there is Mde. de Stael’s—­there I never go, though I might, had I courted it.  It is composed of the * ’s and the * family, with a strange sprinkling,—­orators, dandies, and all kinds of Blue, from the regular Grub Street uniform, down to the azure jacket of the Litterateur.  To see * * and * * sitting together, at dinner, always reminds me of the grave, where all distinctions of friend and foe are levelled; and they—­the Reviewer and Reviewee—­the Rhinoceros and Elephant—­the Mammoth and Megalonyx—­all will lie quietly together.  They now sit together, as silent, but not so quiet, as if they were already immured.

“I did not go to the Berrys’ the other night.  The elder is a woman of much talent, and both are handsome, and must have been beautiful.  To-night asked to Lord H.’s—­shall I go? um!—­perhaps.

“Morning, two o’clock.

“Went to Lord H.’s—­party numerous—­milady in perfect good humour, and consequently perfect.  No one more agreeable, or perhaps so much so, when she will.  Asked for Wednesday to dine and meet the Stael—­asked particularly, I believe, out of mischief, to see the first interview after the note, with which Corinne professes herself to be so much taken.  I don’t much like it; she always talks of myself or herself, and I am not (except in soliloquy, as now,) much enamoured of either subject—­especially one’s works.  What the devil shall I say about ’De l’Allemagne?’ I like it prodigiously; but unless I can twist my admiration into some fantastical expression, she won’t believe me; and I know, by experience, I shall be overwhelmed with fine things about rhyme, &c. &c.  The lover, Mr. * *, was there to-night, and C * * said ‘it was the only proof he had seen of her good taste.’  Monsieur L’Amant is remarkably handsome; but I don’t think more so than her book.

“C * * looks well,—­seems pleased, and dressed to sprucery.  A blue coat becomes him,—­so does his new wig.  He really looked as if Apollo had sent him a birthday suit, or a wedding-garment, and was witty and lively.  He abused Corinne’s book, which I regret; because, firstly, he understands German, and is consequently a fair judge; and, secondly, he is first-rate, and, consequently, the best of judges.  I reverence and admire him; but I won’t give up my opinion—­why should I?  I read her again and again, and there can be no affectation in this.  I cannot be mistaken (except in taste) in a book I read and lay down, and take up again; and no book can be totally bad which finds one, even one reader, who can say as much sincerely.