The more violent the fatigue, the better my spirits for the rest of the day; and then, my evenings have that calm nothingness of languor, which I most delight in.  To-day I have boxed one hour—­written an ode to Napoleon Buonaparte—­copied it—­eaten six biscuits—­drunk four bottles of soda water—­redde away the rest of my time—­besides giving poor * * a world of advice about this mistress of his, who is plaguing him into a phthisic and intolerable tediousness.  I am a pretty fellow truly to lecture about ‘the sect.’  No matter, my counsels are all thrown away.

[Footnote 5:  “As much company,” says Pope, “as I have kept, and as much as I love it, I love reading better, and would rather be employed in reading than in the most agreeable conversation.”]

“April 19. 1814.

“There is ice at both poles, north and south—­all extremes are the same—­misery belongs to the highest and the lowest only,—­to the emperor and the beggar, when unsixpenced and unthroned.  There is, to be sure, a damned insipid medium—­an equinoctial line—­no one knows where, except upon maps and measurement.

    “’And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
    The way to dusty death.’

I will keep no further journal of that same hesternal torch-light; and, to prevent me from returning, like a dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remaining leaves of this volume, and write, in Ipecacuanha,—­’that the Bourbons are restored!!!’—­’Hang up philosophy.’  To be sure, I have long despised myself and man, but I never spat in the face of my species before—­’O fool!  I shall go mad.’”

* * * * *

The perusal of this singular Journal having made the reader acquainted with the chief occurrences that marked the present period of his history—­the publication of The Corsair, the attacks upon him in the newspapers, &c.—­there only remains for me to add his correspondence at the same period, by which the moods and movements of his mind, during these events, will be still further illustrated.

* * * * *

TO MR. MURRAY.

     “Sunday, Jan. 2. 1814.

“Excuse this dirty paper—­it is the penultimate half-sheet of a quire.  Thanks for your book and the Ln.  Chron., which I return.  The Corsair is copied, and now at Lord Holland’s; but I wish Mr. Gifford to have it to-night.

“Mr. Dallas is very perverse; so that I have offended both him and you, when I really meaned to do good, at least to one, and certainly not to annoy either.[6] But I shall manage him, I hope.—­I am pretty confident of the Tale itself; but one cannot be sure.  If I get it from Lord Holland, it shall be sent.

     “Yours,” &c.