I am getting rather into admiration of [Lady C. Annesley] the youngest
sister of [Lady F. Webster]. A wife would be my salvation. I am sure the
wives of my acquaintances have hitherto done me little good. Catherine
is beautiful, but very young, and, I think, a fool. But I have not seen
enough to judge; besides, I hate an _esprit_ in petticoats. That she
won't love me is very probable, nor shall I love her. But, on my system,
and the modern system in general, that don't signify. The business (if
it came to business) would probably be arranged between papa and me. She
would have her own way; I am good-humoured to women, and docile; and, if
I did not fall in love with her, which I should try to prevent, we
should be a very comfortable couple. As to conduct, _that_ she must look
to. But _if_ I love, I shall be jealous;--and for that reason I will not
be in love. Though, after all, I doubt my temper, and fear I should not
be so patient as becomes the _bienseance_ of a married man in my
station. Divorce ruins the poor _femme_, and damages are a paltry
compensation. I do fear my temper would lead me into some of our
oriental tricks of vengeance, or, at any rate, into a summary appeal to
the court of twelve paces. So "I'll none on't," but e'en remain single
and solitary;--though I should like to have somebody now and then to
yawn with one.
Ward, and, after him,----, has stolen one of my buffooneries about Mde.
de Stael's Metaphysics and the Fog, and passed it, by speech and letter,
as their own.
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