The sandy plain before the house has left a strong impression, which is obscurely connected with an indistinct remembrance of curious insects, probably a Cimex mottled with red, and Zygaena, the burnet-moth.

I was at that time very passionate (when I swore like a trooper) and quarrelsome.

The former passion has I think nearly wholly but slowly died away.

When journeying there by stage coach I remember a recruiting officer (I think I should know his face to this day) at tea time, asking the maid-servant for toasted bread and butter.

I was convulsed with laughter and thought it the quaintest and wittiest speech that ever passed from the mouth of man.