The last mysterious sentence is one of many scattered through, the
Diary, which, aided by dashes and omission-marks by the editorial son,
point to certain sentimentalisms in which Crabbe was still indulging,
even in the vortex of fashionable gaieties. We gather throughout that
the ladies he met interested him quite as much, or even more, than the
distinguished men of letters, and there are allusions besides to other
charmers at a distance. The following entry immediately precedes that of
the Sunday just quoted:--

"14th.--Some more intimate conversation this morning with
Mr. and Mrs. Moore. They mean to go to Trowbridge. He
is going to Paris, but will not stay long. Mrs. Spencer's
album. Agree to dine at Curzon Street. A welcome letter
from ----. This makes the day more cheerful. Suppose it
were so. Well, 'tis not! Go to Mr. Rogers, and take a farewell
visit to Highbury. Miss Rogers. Promise to go when ----.
Return early. Dine there, and purpose to see Mr.
Moore and Mr. Rogers in the morning when they set out for
Calais."

On the whole, however, Crabbe may have found, when these fascinating
experiences were over, that there had been safety in a multitude. For he
seems to have been equally charmed with Rogers's sister, and William
Spencer's daughter, and the Countess of Bessborough, and a certain Mrs.
Wilson,--and, like Miss Snevellicci's papa, to have "loved them every
one."

Meanwhile Crabbe was working steadily, while in London, at his new
poems. Though his minimum output was thirty lines a day, he often