It is the same in conversation. I never know,
or, if my sub-consciousness knows, I never remember, who anybody
is. I speak to people about scandals with which they are connected.
I frankly give my mind about Mr. DULL's poems to Mr. DULL's
sister-in-law. I give free play to my humour about the Royal Academy
in talk with the wife of an Academician of whom I never heard. I am
like _Jeanie Deans_, at her interview with Queen CAROLINE, when, as
the MACALLUM MORE said, she first brought down the Queen, and then
Lady SUFFOLK, right and left, with remarks about unkind mothers, and
the Stool of Penitence.
Thus you may see me forlorn, with each of my neighbours turning
towards me the shoulder of indignation. I do not blame them, but how
can I help it? It is the Fairy's fault: the curse has come upon me.
WILLIAM BUFFY, the Statesman, has a great clan of kinsfolk. Did I ever
express my views about WILLIAM BUFFY, but one of Clan Buffy was there,
to be annoyed? When I find out what has occurred, I become as red as
any tomato, but that does nobody any good.
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