bbling and scribes, by
themselves and others--a sign of effeminacy, degeneracy, and
weakness. Who would write, who had any thing better to do?
'Action--action--action'--said Demosthenes: 'Actions--actions,' I say,
and not writing,--least of all, rhyme. Look at the querulous and
monotonous lives of the 'genus;'--except Cervantes, Tasso, Dante,
Ariosto, Kleist (who were brave and active citizens), Aeschylus,
Sophocles, and some other of the antiques also--what a worthless, idle
brood it is!

"12, Mezza notte.

"Just returned from dinner with Jackson (the Emperor of Pugilism) and
another of the select, at Crib's the champion's. I drank more than I
like, and have brought away some three bottles of very fair claret--for
I have no headach. We had Tom * * up after dinner;--very facetious,
though somewhat prolix. He don't like his situation--wants to fight
again--pray Pollux (or Castor, if he was the _miller_) he may! Tom has
been a sailor--a coal heaver--and some other genteel profession, before
he took to the cestus. Tom has been in action at sea, and is now only
three-and-thirty. A great man! has a wife and a mistress, and
conversations well--bating some sad omissions and misapplications of
the aspirate. Tom is an old friend of mine; I have seen some of his best
battles in my nonage. He is now a publican, and, I fear, a sinner;--for
Mrs. * * is on alimony, and * *'s daughter lives with the champion.
_This_ * * told me,--Tom, having an opinion of my morals, passed her off
as a legal spouse. Talking of her, he said, 'she was the truest of
women'--from which I immediately inferred she could not be his wife, and
so it turned out.

"These panegyrics don't belong to matrimony;--for, if 'true,' a man
don't think it necessary to say so; and if not, the less he says the
better. * * * * is the only man, except * * * *, I ever heard harangue
upon his wife's virtue; and I listened to both with great credence and
patience, and stuffed my handkerchief into my mouth, when I found
yawning irresistible.--By the by, I am yawning now--so, good night to
thee.--[Greek: Nohairon].

"Thursday, November 26.

"Awoke a little feverish, but no headach--no dreams neither, thanks to
stupor! Two letters; one from * * * *'s, the other from Lady
Melbourne--both excellent in their respective styles. * * * *'s
contained also a very pretty lyric on 'concealed griefs;' if not her
own, yet very like her. Why did she not say that the stanzas were, or