He is my opposite neighbour at present.

"I wrote yesterday in some perplexity, and no very good humour, to
Mr. Kinnaird, to inform me about Newstead and the Hansons, of which
and whom I hear nothing since his departure from this place, except
in a few unintelligible words from an unintelligible woman.

"I am as sorry to hear of Dr. Polidori's accident as one can be
for a person for whom one has a dislike, and something of contempt.
When he gets well, tell me, and how he gets on in the sick line.
Poor fellow! how came he to fix there?

"I fear the Doctor's skill at Norwich
Will hardly salt the Doctor's porridge.

Methought he was going to the Brazils to give the Portuguese physic
(of which they are fond to desperation) with the Danish consul.

"Your new Canto has expanded to one hundred and sixty-seven
stanzas. It will be long, you see; and as for the notes by
Hobhouse, I suspect they will be of the heroic size. You must keep
Mr. * * in good humour, for he is devilish touchy yet about your
Review and all which it inherits, including the editor, the
Admiralty, and its bookseller. I used to think that _I_ was a good
deal of an author in _amour propre_ and _noli me tangere_; but
these prose fellows are worst, after all, about their little
comforts.

"Do you remember my mentioning, some months ago, the Marquis
Moncada--a Spaniard of distinction and fourscore years, my summer