But I
am much more indebted to the tale than I can ever be to the most partial
reader; as it wrung my thoughts from reality to imagination--from
selfish regrets to vivid recollections--and recalled me to a country
replete with the _brightest_ and _darkest_, but always most _lively_
colours of my memory. Sharpe called, but was not let in, which I regret.
Saw [Rogers] yesterday. I have not kept my appointment at Middleton,
which has not pleased him, perhaps; and my projected voyage with [Ward]
will, perhaps, please him less. But I wish to keep well with both. They
are instruments that don't do in concert; but, surely, their separate
tones are very musical, and I won't give up either.
It is well if I don't jar between these great discords. At present I
stand tolerably well with all, but I cannot adopt their _dislikes_;--so
many _sets_. Holland's is the first;--every thing _distingue_ is welcome
there, and certainly the _ton_ of his society is the best. Then there is
Madame de Stael's--there I never go, though I might, had I courted it.
It is composed of the----s and the----family, with a strange
sprinkling,--orators, dandies, and all kinds of _Blue_, from the regular
Grub Street uniform, down to the azure jacket of the _Litterateur_ [2]?
To see----and----sitting together, at dinner, always reminds me of
the grave, where all distinctions of friend and foe are levelled; and
they--the Reviewer and the Reviewee--the Rhinoceros and Elephant--the
Mammoth and Megalonyx--all will lie quietly together.
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