act, at last,
beat Romanelli, and here I am, well but weakly, at your service.

"Since I left Constantinople, I have made a tour of the Morea, and
visited Veley Pacha, who paid me great honours, and gave me a pretty
stallion. H. is doubtless in England before even the date of this
letter:--he bears a despatch from me to your bardship. He writes to me
from Malta, and requests my journal, if I keep one. I have none, or he
should have it; but I have replied in a consolatory and exhortatory
epistle, praying him to abate three and sixpence in the price of his
next boke seeing that half-a-guinea is a price not to be given for any
thing save an opera ticket.

"As for England, it is long since I have heard from it. Every one at
all connected with my concerns is asleep, and you are my only
correspondent, agents excepted. I have really no friends in the world;
though all my old school companions are gone forth into that world,
and walk about there in monstrous disguises, in the garb of guardsmen,
lawyers, parsons, fine gentlemen, and such other masquerade dresses.
So, I here shake hands and cut with all these busy people, none of
whom write to me. Indeed I ask it not;--and here I am, a poor
traveller and heathenish philosopher, who hath perambulated the
greatest part of the Levant, and seen a great quantity of very
improvable land and sea, and, after all, am no better than when I set
out--Lord help me!

"I have been out fifteen months this very day, and I believe my
concerns will draw me to England soon; but of this I will apprise you
regularly from Malta. On all points Hobhouse will inform you, if you
are curious as to our adventures. I have seen some old English papers
up to the 15th of May. I see the 'Lady of the Lake' advertised. Of
course it is in his old ballad style, and pretty. After all, Scott is
the best of them. The end of all scribblement is to amuse, and he
certainly succeeds there. I long to read his new romance.

"And how does 'Sir Edgar?' and your friend Bland? I suppose you are
involved in some literary squabble. The only way is to despise all
brothers of the quill. I suppose you won't allow me to be an author,
but I contemn you all, you dogs!--I do.

"You don't know D----s, do you? He had a farce ready for the stage
before I left England, and asked me for a prologue, which I promised,
but sailed in such a hurry, I never penned a couplet. I am afraid to
ask after his drama, for fear it should be damned--Lor