bishop of Tarentum, both urging us to return to Italy to
see them, as they say, once more before they die. Receiving letters
from absent friends who are dear to us, has almost as much of sadness
as of pleasure in it; for although it is consolatory to know that they
are in life, and are not unmindful of us, still a closely written sheet
of paper is but a poor substitute for the animated conversation, the
cordial grasp of the hand, and the kind glance of the eye; and we
become more sensible of the distance that divides us when letters
written many days ago arrive, and we remember with dread that, since
these very epistles were indited, the hands that traced them may be
chilled by death. This fear, which recurs so often to the mind in all
cases of absence from those dear to us, becomes still more vivid where
infirmity of health and advanced age render the probability of the loss
of friends the greater.

Italy--dear, beautiful Italy--with all its sunshine and attractions,
would not be the same delightful residence to me if I no longer found
there the friends who made my _sejour_ there so pleasant; and among
these the Archbishop and Sir William Gell stand prominent.

Gell writes me that some new and interesting discoveries have been made
at Pompeii. Would that I could be transported there for a few days to
see them with him, as I have beheld so many before when we were present
at several excavations together, and saw exposed to the light of day
objects that had been for two thousand years buried in darkness! There
was a thrilling feeling of interest awakened in the breast by the first
view of these so-long-interred articles of use or ornament of a bygone
generation, and on the spot where their owners perished. It was as
though the secrets of the grave were revealed; and that, to convince us
of the perishable coil of which mortals are formed, it is given us to
behold how much more durable are the commonest utensils of daily use
than the frames of those who boast themselves lords of the creation.
But here am I moralizing, when I ought to be taking advantage of this
glorious day by a promenade in the Bois de Boulogne, where I promised
to conduct Madame d'O----; so _allons en voiture_.

Read the _Disowned_, and like it exceedingly. It is full of beautiful
thoughts, sparkling with wit, teeming with sentiment, and each and all
of them based on immutable truths. The more I read of the works of this
highly gifted writer, the more