said nothing, either, of the brilliant sex; but the fact is, I am at this moment in a far more serious, and entirely new, scrape
than any of the last twelve months,—and that is saying a good deal. It is unlucky we can neither live with nor without these women.
I am now thinking of regretting that, just as I have left Newstead, you reside near it. Did you ever see it?
do
—but don't tell me that you like it. If I had known of such intellectual neighbourhood, I don't think I should have quitted it. You could have come over so often, as a bachelor,—for it was a thorough bachelor's mansion—plenty of wine and such sordid sensualities—with books enough, room enough, and an air of antiquity about all (except the lasses) that would have suited you, when pensive, and served you to laugh at when in glee. I had built myself a bath and a
vault
—and now I sha'n't even be buried in it. It is odd that we can't even be certain of a
grave