. . . As to my history since I have seen you, there is little to tell.
Divinity is not outraged by your not addressing me as a Reverend--I not
being one. I am a very lazy fellow, who do nothing: and this I have been
doing in different places ever since I saw you last. I have not been
well for the last week: for I am at present rather liable to be overset
by any weariness (and where can any be found that can match the effect of
two Oratorios?), since for the last three months I have lived on
vegetables--that is, I have given up meat. When I was talking of this to
Vipan, he told me that you had once tried it, and given it up. I shall
hear your account of its effect on you. The truth is, that mine is the
wrong time of life to begin a change of that kind: it is either too
early, or too late. But I have no doubt at all of the advantage of
giving up meat: I find already much good from it, in lightness and
airiness of head, whereas I was always before clouded and more or less
morbid after meat. The loss of strength is to be expected: I shall keep
on and see if that also will turn, and change into strength. I have
almost Utopian notions about _vegetable diet_, begging pardon for making
use of such a vile, Cheltenhamic, phrase. Why do you not bring up your
children to it? To be sure, the chances are, that, after guarding their
vegetable morals for years, they would be seduced by some roast partridge
with bread sauce, and become ungodly. This actually happened to the son
of a Dr. Newton who wrote a book {23} about it and bred up his children
to it--but all such things I will tell you when I meet you. Gods! it is
a pleasant notion that one is about to meet an old acquaintance in a day
or two.
Believe me then your most sincere friend,