"Augusta wants me to make it up with Carlisle. I have refused _every_
body else, but I can't deny her any thing;--so I must e'en do it, though
I had as lief 'drink up Eisel--eat a crocodile.' Let me see--Ward, the
Hollands, the Lambs, Rogers, &c. &c.--every body, more or less, have
been trying for the last two years to accommodate this _couplet_ quarrel
to no purpose. I shall laugh if Augusta succeeds.

"Redde a little of many things--shall get in all my books to-morrow.
Luckily this room will hold them--with 'ample room and verge, &c. the
characters of hell to trace.' I must set about some employment soon; my
heart begins to eat _itself_ again.


"April 8.

"Out of town six days. On my return, find my poor little pagod,
Napoleon, pushed off his pedestal;--the thieves are in Paris. It is his
own fault. Like Milo, he would rend the oak[4]; but it closed again,
wedged his hands, and now the beasts--lion, bear, down to the dirtiest
jackall--may all tear him. That Muscovite winter _wedged_ his
arms;--ever since, he has fought with his feet and teeth. The last may
still leave their marks; and 'I guess now' (as the Yankees say) that he
will yet play them a pass. He is in their rear--between them and their
homes. Query--will they ever reach them?

[Footnote 4: He adopted this thought afterwards in his Ode to Napoleon,
as well as most of the historical examples in the following paragraph.]