long as the fools will keep their
nonsense out of my way."[54]

[Footnote 54: It would be difficult to describe more strongly or more
convincingly than Lord Byron has done in this letter the sort of petty,
but thwarting obstructions and distractions which are at present thrown
across the path of men of real talent by that swarm of minor critics and
pretenders with whom the want of a vent in other professions has crowded
all the walks of literature. Nor is it only the writers of the day that
suffer from this multifarious rush into the mart;--the readers also,
from having (as Lord Byron expresses it in another letter) "the
superficies of too many things presented to them at once," come to lose
by degrees their powers of discrimination; and, in the same manner as
the palate becomes confused in trying various wines, so the public taste
declines in proportion as the impressions to which it is exposed
multiply.]

* * * * *

LETTER 457. TO MR. MOORE.

"September 27. 1821.

"It was not Murray's fault. I did not send the MS. _overture_, but
I send it now[55], and it may be restored;--or, at any rate, you
may keep the original, and give any copies you please. I send it,
as written, and as I _read_ it to you--I have no other copy.

"By last week's _two_ posts, in two packets, I sent to your
address, at _Paris_, a longish poem upon the late Irishism of your
countrymen in their reception of * * *. Pray, have you received it?
It is in 'the high Roman fashion,' and full of ferocious phantasy.
As _you_ could not well take up the matter with Paddy (being of the
same nest), I have;--but I hope still that I have done justice to
his great men and his good heart. As for * * *, you will find it
laid on with a trowel. I delight in your 'fact historical'--is it a
fact?

"Yours, &c.

"P.S. You have not answered me about Schlegel--why not? Address to
me at Pisa, whither I am going, to join the exiles--a pretty
numerous body at present. Let me hear how you are, and what you
mean to do. Is there no chance of your recrossing the Alps? If the
G. Rex marries again, let him not want an Epithalamium--suppose a
joint concern of you and me, like Sternhold and Hopkins!"

[Footnote 55: The lines "Oh Wellington," which I had missed in their
original place at the opening of the third Canto, and took for grant