of ruins. We read in the papers of a tremendously
cold winter in England and elsewhere, while I am able on most days to
walk out as in an English summer, and while we are all forced to take
precautions against the sun. Also Robert is well, and our child has not
dropped a single rose-leaf from his radiant cheeks. We are very
comfortably settled in rooms turned to the sun, and do work and play by
turns--having almost too many visitors--hear excellent music at Mrs.
Sartoris's (Adelaide Kemble) once or twice a week, and have Fanny Kemble
to come and talk to us with the doors shut, we three together. This is
pleasant. I like her decidedly. If anybody wants small-talk by handfuls
of glittering dust swept out of salons, here's Mr. Thackeray besides;
and if anybody wants a snow-man to match Southey's snow-woman (see
'Thalaba'), here's Mr. Lockhart, who, in complexion, hair, conversation,
and manners, might have been made out of one of your English
'_drifts_'--'sixteen feet deep in some places,' says Galignani. Also,
here's your friend _V._--Mrs. Archer Clive.[31] We were at her house the
other evening. She seems good-natured, but what a very peculiar person
as to looks, and even voice and general bearing; and what a peculiar
unconsciousness of peculiarity. I do not know her much. I go out very
little in the evening, both from fear of the night air and from
disinclination to stir. Mr. Page, our neighbour downstairs, pleases me
much, and you ought to know more of him in England, for his portraits
are like Titian's--flesh, blood, and soul. I never saw such portraits
from a living hand. He professes to have discovered secrets, and plainly
_knows_ them, from his wonderful effects of colour on canvas--not merely
in words. His portrait of Miss Cushman is a miracle. Gibson's famous
painted Venus is very pretty--that's my criticism. Yes, I will say
besides that I have seldom, if ever, seen so indecent a statue. The
colouring with an approximation to flesh tints produces that effect, to
my apprehension. I don't like this statue colouring--no, not at all.
Dearest Miss Mitford, will you write to me? I don't ask for a long
letter, but a letter--a letter. And I entreat you not to _prepay_. Among
other disadvantages, that prepaying tendency of yours may lose me a
letter one day. I want much to hear how you are bearing the winter--how
you are. Give me details about your dear self.

[_The remainder of this letter is missing_]

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