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THE DIARY OF POLIDORI

windowed, shining with brass utensils internally, and only having as many heaps of dirt as there are inhabitants—who certainly throw away all their cleanliness upon the house, fields, roads, and windows. But I will not fill my letter with this, as some time you will either see my Journal in writing or print—Murray having offered me 500 guineas for it through Lord Byron. L[ord] B[yron] is going to give me the manuscript, when done printing, of his new cantos of Childe Harold.[1]

Have you seen Mrs. Soane and Mr. S[oane]? how are they? If you see them, remember me to her and him. I shall write when I have seen the seat of his hero's glory, mine's disgrace; no, not disgrace—misfortune. See Mrs. S[oane], and write how she is.

How are you all at home? Papa, Mamma, Meggy (have you heard from her?), Charlotte, Bob, Henry, Eliza, and Mr. Deagostini. Remember me to all, and to all who enquire about me not merely from curiosity—telling me in your next whether they exceed the number 0. I am very well, and wrote Mamma from Ostend.

I remain, my dear Fanny,
Your affect. Brother,
J. Polidori.

Brussels, May 2, 1816.

  1. No doubt this intention was not carried into effect.