"London, March 6, 1797.
... I am inclined to complain heavily of you, Cottle. Here am I
committing grand larceny on my time, in writing to you; and you, who
might sit at your fire, and write me huge letters, have not found time to
fill even half a sheet. As you may suppose, I have enough of employment.
I work like a negro at law, and therefore neglect nothing else, for he
who never wastes time has always time enough.
I have to see many of the London lions, or literati, George Dyer is to
take me to Mary Hayes, Miss Christal, and Taylor, the Pagan, my near
neighbour. You shall have my physiognomical remarks upon them. I hate
this city more and more, although I see little of it. You do not know
with what delight I anticipate a summer in Wales, and I hope to spend the
summer of the next year there, and to talk Welsh most gutturally. I shall
see Meirion this week, whose real name is William Owen. He is the author
of the new Welsh dictionary, a man of uncommon erudition, and who ought
to esteem me for Madoc's sake. Fare you well. Remember me to all friends.
God bless you.
Yours sincerely,