of a sense of humour. I must take care he does not in civility over-puff
my little assemblage of curiosities. Scarce anything can be meaner than
the vanity which details the contents of China closets,--basins, ewers,
and chamberpots. Horace Walpole, with all his talents, makes a silly
figure when he gives an upholsterer's catalogue of his goods and
chattels at Strawberry Hill.

_January_ 5.--This day I began to review Taschereau's _Life of Moliere_
for Mr. Gillies, who is crying help for God's sake. Messrs. Treuttel and
Wurtz offer guerdon. I shall accept, because it is doing Gillies no good
to let him have my labour for nothing, and an article is about L100. In
my pocket it may form a fund to help this poor gentleman or others at a
pinch; in his, I fear it would only encourage a neglect of sober
economy. When in his prosperity he asked me whether there was not, in my
opinion, something interesting in a man of genius being in embarrassed
circumstances. God knows he has had enough of them since, poor fellow;
and it should be remembered that if he thus dallied with his good
fortune, his benevolence to others was boundless.

We had the agreeable intelligence of Sophia being safely delivered of a
girl; the mother and child doing well. Praised be God!

_January_ 6.--I have a letter from the Duke of Wellington, making no
promises, but assuring me of a favourable consideration of Walter's
case, should an opening occur for the majority. This same _step_ is
represented as the most important, but so in their time were the
lieutenancy and the troop. Each in its turn was _the_ step _par
excellence_. It appears that these same steps are those of a treadmill,
where the party is always ascending and never gains the top. But the
same simile would suit most pursuits in life.

The Misses Kerr left us on Friday--two charming young persons,
well-looked, well-mannered, and well-born; above all, well-principled.
They sing together in a very delightful manner, and our evenings are the
duller without them.

I am annoyed beyond measure with the idle intrusion of voluntary
correspondents; each man who has a pen, ink, and sheet of foolscap to
spare, flies a letter at me. I believe the postage costs me L100 [a
year], besides innumerable franks; and all the letters regard the
writer's own hopes or projects, or are filled with unasked advice or
extravagant requests. I think this evil increases rather than
diminishes. On the other hand, I must f