he kindness with which I was treated. The next day I went for
Trieste in a steamer, down the whole length of the Adriatic. I was
horribly unwell, for the Adriatic is a bad sea, and very dangerous; the
weather was also very rough. After stopping at Trieste a day, besides
the quarantine, I left for Venice, and here I am, and hope to be on my
route again the day after to-morrow. I shall now hurry through Italy by
way of Ancona, Rome, and Civita Vecchia to Marseilles in France, and from
Marseilles to London, in not more than six days' journey. Oh, I shall be
so glad to get back to you and my mother (I hope she is alive and well)
and Hen. {7}

I am glad to hear that we are not to have a war with those silly people,
the French. The idea made me very uneasy, for I thought how near Oulton
lay to the coast.

You cannot imagine what a magnificent old town Venice is--it is clearly
the finest in Italy, although in decay; it stands upon islands in the
sea, and in many places is intersected with canals. The Grand Canal is
four miles long, lined with palaces on either side. I, however, shall be
glad to leave it, for there is no place to me like Oulton, where live two
of my dear ones. I have told you that I am very tired, so that I cannot
write much more, and I am presently going to bed, but I am sure that you
will be glad to hear from me however little I may write.

I think I told you in my last letter that I had been to the top of Mount
Olympus, in Thessaly. Tell Hen that I saw a whole herd of wild deer
bounding down the cliffs, the noise they made was like thunder. I also
saw an enormous eagle--one of Jupiter's birds, his real eagles, for
according to the Grecian mythology Olympus was his favourite haunt. I
don't know what it was then, but at present it is the most wild, savage
place I ever saw; an immense way up I came to a forest of pines; half of
them were broken by thunder-bolts, snapped in the middle, and the ruins
lying around in the most hideous confusion; some had been blasted from
top to bottom and stood naked, black, and charred, in indescribable
horridness. Jupiter was the god of thunder, and he still seems to haunt
Olympus. The worst is there is little water, so that a person might
almost perish there of thirst: the snow-water, however, when it runs into
the hollows is the most delicious beverage ever tasted--the snow,
however, is very high up. My next letter I hope will be from Marseilles,
and I hope to