eting Mr. Paulo,
and the rest of the _literati_ to be then and there assembled, was of
course immediately expressed.

My mind became restless and agitated. I felt, amidst all these
invitations, cruelly neglected. They served, indeed, but to increase my
uneasiness, as they opened prospects of happiness in which I could take
no share. They discovered a most tempting dessert, composed of forbidden
fruit. I took down "Childe Harold," and read myself into a sublime
contempt of mankind. I began to perceive that merriment is only malice
in disguise, and that the chief cardinal virtue is misanthropy.

I sat "nursing my wrath," till it scorched me; when the arrival of
another epistle suddenly charmed me from this state of delicious
melancholy and delightful endurance of wrong. I sickened as I surveyed,
and trembled as I opened it. It was dated----, but no matter; it was not
_the_ letter. In such a frenzy as mine, raging to behold the object of
my admiration condescend, not to _eat_ a custard, but to render it
invisible--to be invited perhaps to a tart fabricated by her own
ethereal fingers; with such possibilities before me, how could I think
of joining a "friendly party,"--where I should inevitably sit next to a
deaf lady, who had been, when a little girl, patted on the head by
Wilkes, or my Lord North, she could not recollect which--had taken tea
with the author of "Junius," but had forgotten his name--and who once
asked me "whether Mr. Munden's monument was in Westminster Abbey or St.
Paul's?"--I seized a pen, and presented my compliments. I hesitated--for
the peril of precariousness of my situation flashed on my mind; but hope
had still left me a straw to catch at, and I at length succeeded in
resisting this late and terrible temptation.

After the first burst of excitement, I sunk into still deeper
despondency. My spirit became a prey to anxiety and remorse. I could not
eat; dinner was removed with unlifted covers. I went out. The world
seemed to have acquired a new face; nothing was to be seen but raisins
and rounds of beef. I wandered about like Lear--I had given up all! I
felt myself grated against the world like a nutmeg. It grew dark--I
sustained a still gloomier shock. Every chance seemed to have expired,
and everybody seemed to have a delightful engagement for the next day. I
alone was disengaged--I felt like the Last Man! To-morrow appeared to
have already commenced its career; mankind had anticipated the future;