Thursday, March 17th [1814]
I have been sparring with Jackson for exercise this morning; and mean to continue and renew my acquaintance with the muffles. My chest, and arms, and wind are in very good plight, and I am not in flesh. I used to be a hard hitter, and my arms are very long for my height (5 feet 8 1/2 inches). At any rate, exercise is good, and this the severest of all; fencing and the broad-sword never fatigued me half so much.
Redde
the
Quarrels of Authors
(another sort of
sparring
)—a new work, by that most entertaining and researching writer, Israeli. They seem to be an irritable set, and I wish myself well out of it. "I'll
not
march through Coventry with them, that's flat."
What the devil had I to do with scribbling? It is too late to inquire, and all regret is useless. But, an it were to do again,—I should write again, I suppose. Such is human nature, at least my share of it;—though I shall think better of myself, if I have sense to stop now. If I have a wife, and that wife has a son—by any body—I will bring up mine heir in the most anti-poetical way—make him a lawyer, or a pirate, or—any thing. But, if he writes too, I shall be sure he is none of mine, and cut him off with a Bank token. Must write a letter—three o'clock.
Footnote 1:
Disraeli's
Curiosities of Literature
, 2 vols. (1807);
Calamities of Authors
, 2 vols. (1812); and
Quarrels of Authors
, 3 vols. (1814), appear in the Sale Catalogue.
Footnote 2:
Henry IV
., Part I. act iv. sc. 2.
