etter, which I threw into the fire. Redde--but to little
purpose. Did not visit Hobhouse, as I promised and ought. No matter, the
loss is mine. Smoked cigars.

"Napoleon!--this week will decide his fate. All seems against him; but I
believe and hope he will win--at least, beat back the invaders. What
right have we to prescribe sovereigns to France? Oh for a Republic!
'Brutus, thou sleepest.' Hobhouse abounds in continental anecdotes of
this extraordinary man; all in favour of his intellect and courage, but
against his _bonhommie_. No wonder;--how should he, who knows mankind
well, do other than despise and abhor them?

"The greater the equality, the more impartially evil is distributed, and
becomes lighter by the division among so many--therefore, a Republic!

"More notes from Mad. de * * unanswered--and so they shall remain. I
admire her abilities, but really her society is overwhelming--an
avalanche that buries one in glittering nonsense--all snow and
sophistry.

"Shall I go to Mackintosh's on Tuesday? um!--I did not go to Marquis
Lansdowne's, nor to Miss Berry's, though both are pleasant. So is Sir
James's,--but I don't know--I believe one is not the better for parties;
at least, unless some _regnante_ is there.

"I wonder how the deuce any body could make such a world; for what
purpose dandies, for instance, were ordained--and kings--and fellows of
colleges--and women of 'a certain age'--and many men of any age--and
myself, most of all!

"'Divesne prisco et natus ab Inacho,
Nil interest, an pauper, et infima
De gente, sub dio moreris,
Victima nil miserantis Orci.
* * * * *
Omnes eodem cogimur.'

"Is there any thing beyond?--_who_ knows? _He_ that can't tell. Who
tells that there _is_? He who don't know. And when shall he know?
perhaps, when he don't expect, and generally when he don't wish it. In
this last respect, however, all are not alike: it depends a good deal
upon education,--something upon nerves and habits--but most upon
digestion.

"Saturday, Feb. 19.

"Just returned from seeing Kean in Richard. By Jove, he is a soul!
Life--nature--truth without exaggeration or diminution. Kemble's Hamlet
is perfect;--but Hamlet is not Nature. Richard is a man; and Kean is
Richard. Now to my own concerns.

"Went to Waite's. Teeth all right and white; but he says that I grind
them in my sleep and chip the edges. That same sleep is no friend of
min