[Footnote 75: He here alludes to a circumstance which I had communicated to him in a preceding letter. In writing to one of the numerous partners of a well-known publishing establishment (with which I have since been lucky enough to form a more intimate connection), I had said confidentially (as I thought), in reference to a poem that had just appeared,--"Between you and me, I do not much admire Mr. * *'s poem." The letter being chiefly upon business, was answered through the regular business channel, and, to my dismay, concluded with the following words:--"_We_ are very sorry that you do not approve of Mr. * *'s new poem, and are your obedient, &c. &c. L.H.R.O., &c. &c."] * * * * * LETTER 218. TO MR. MOORE. "March 17. 1815. "I meaned to write to you before on the subject of your loss[76]; but the recollection of the uselessness and worthlessness of any observations on such events prevented me. I shall only now add, that I rejoice to see you bear it so well, and that I trust time will enable Mrs. M. to sustain it better. Every thing should be done to divert and occupy her with other thoughts and cares, and I am sure that all that can be done will. "Now to your letter. Napoleon--but the papers will have told you all. I quite think with you upon the subject, and for my _real_ thoughts this time last year, I would refer you to the last pages of the Journal I gave you. I can forgive the rogue for utterly falsifying every line of mine Ode--which I take to be the last and uttermost stretch of human magnanimity. Do you remember the story of a certain Abbe, who wrote a treatise on the Swedish Constitution, and proved it indissoluble and eternal? Just as he had corrected the last sheet, news came that Gustavus III. had destroyed this immortal government. 'Sir,' quoth the Abbe, 'the King of Sweden may overthrow the _constitution_, but not _my book_!!' I think _of_ the Abbe, but not _with_ him. "Making every allowance for talent and most consummate daring, there is, after all, a good deal in luck or destiny. He might have been stopped by our frigates--or wrecked in the Gulf of Lyons, which is particularly tempestuous--or--a thousand things. But he is certainly Fortune's favourite, and Once fairly set out on his party of pleasure, Taking towns at his liking and crowns at his leisure, From Elba to Lyons and Paris he goes, Making _balls for_ the ladies, and _bows_ to his foes.