e
from the more prodigious monstrosity of being never by myself! I forget
bed-time, but even there these sociable frogs clamber up to annoy me.
Once a week, generally some singular evening that, being alone, I go to
bed at the hour I ought always to be a-bed; just close to my bedroom
window is the club-room of a public-house, where a set of singers, I
take them to be chorus-singers of the two theatres (it must be both of
them), begin their orgies. They are a set of fellows (as I conceive)
who, being limited by their talents to the burthen of the song at the
play-houses, in revenge have got the common popular airs by Bishop, or
some cheap composer, arranged for choruses; that is, to be sung all in
chorus. At least I never can catch any of the text of the plain song,
nothing but the Babylonish choral howl at the tail on't. "That fury
being quenched"--the howl, I mean--a burden succeeds of shouts and
clapping, and knocking of the table. At length overtasked nature drops
under it, and escapes for a few hours into the society of the sweet
silent creatures of dreams, which go away with mocks and mows at
cockcrow. And then I think of the words Christabel's father used (bless
me, I have dipt in the wrong ink!) to say every morning by way of
variety when he awoke:

"Every knell, the Baron saith,
Wakes us up to a world of death"

or something like it. All I mean by this senseless interrupted tale, is,
that by my central situation I am a little over-companied. Not that I
have any animosity against the good creatures that are so anxious to
drive away the harpy solitude from me. I like 'em, and cards, and a
cheerful glass; but I mean merely to give you an idea, between office
confinement and after-office society, how little time I can call my
own. I mean only to draw a picture, not to make an inference. I would
not that I know of have it otherwise. I only wish sometimes I could
exchange some of my faces and voices for the faces and voices which a
late visitation brought most welcome, and carried away, leaving regret,
but more pleasure, even a kind of gratitude, at being so often favoured
with that kind northern visitation. My London faces and noises don't
hear me--I mean no disrespect, or I should explain myself, that instead
of their return 220 times a year, and the return of W. W. etc., seven
times in 104 weeks, some more equal distribution might be found. I have
scarce room to put in Mary's kind love, and my poor name,