, representing as it does to me your face,
your voice, and, above all, your generous and constant affection, makes
the mere superscription of your letters worth a joyful welcome from me;
and for any dearth of matter on your part, it lies, I rather think,
chiefly in the direction which least affects me, _i.e._ society gossip,
or "_news_," _as it is called_ (O Lord! such _old_ news as it is), being
for ever the same stuff with a mere imperceptible difference in the
pattern on it, let it come from what quarter of the civilized globe it
will; and which, as far as I have had occasion to observe latterly,
forms the chief resource of "polite letter-writers."

Of matters that do interest me, you might surely have plenty to
say--your own health and frame of mind; the books you read, and what you
think of them; and whatever of special interest to yourself occurs,
either at home or abroad. At Ardgillan, you know, I know every inch of
_your_ ground, and between the little turret room and the Dell it seems
to me many letters might be filled; then the state of politics in
England interests me intensely; and the condition of Ireland is surely a
most fruitful theme for comment just now....

We are now at Frascati, and in spite of the inexhaustible, immortal
interest of Rome, I am rejoicing with my whole nature, moral, mental,
and physical, in our removal to the country. The beautiful aspect of
this enchanting region, occasionally, by rare accident, recalls the hill
country in America that I am so fond of; but this is of a far higher and
nobler order of beauty.

The Campagna itself is an ever-present feature of picturesque grandeur
in the landscape here, and gives it a character unlike anything anywhere
else.

The district of country round Lenox rejoices in a number of small lakes
(from one hill-side one sees five), of a few miles in circumference,
which, lying in the laps of the hills, with fine wooded slopes sweeping
down to their bright basins, give a peculiar charm to the scenery;
while here, as you know, the volcanic waters of Albano and Nemi lie so
deep in their rocky beds as to be invisible, unless from their very
margins.

Of the human picturesqueness of this place and people no American
scenery or population have an atom; and isolated, ugly, mean,
matter-of-fact farm-houses, or whitewashed, clap-boarded, stiff, staring
villages, alike without antiquity to make them venerable or
picturesqueness to make them tolerable, are