"Nine o'clock.

"Been to Hanson's on business. Saw Rogers, and had a note from Lady
Melbourne, who says, it is said I am 'much out of spirits.' I wonder if
I really am or not? I have certainly enough of 'that perilous stuff
which weighs upon the heart,' and it is better they should believe it to
be the result of these attacks than of the real cause; but--ay, ay,
always _but_, to the end of the chapter.

"Hobhouse has told me ten thousand anecdotes of Napoleon, all good and
true. My friend H. is the most entertaining of companions, and a fine
fellow to boot.

"Redde a little--wrote notes and letters, and am alone, which Locke
says, is bad company. 'Be not solitary, be not idle.'--Um!--the idleness
is troublesome; but I can't see so much to regret in the solitude. The
more I see of men, the less I like them. If I could but say so of women
too, all would be well. Why can't I? I am now six-and-twenty; my
passions have had enough to cool them; my affections more than enough to
wither them,--and yet--and yet--always _yet_ and _but_--'Excellent well,
you are a fishmonger--get thee to a nunnery.'--'They fool me to the top
of my bent.'


"Midnight.

"Began a letter, 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.