with one day's exception, until to-day,
when it rained very heavily and suddenly. Egg and Collins have gone to
the Vatican, and I am "going" to try whether I can hit out anything for
the Christmas number. Give my love to Forster, and tell him I won't
write to him until I hear from him.

I have not come across any English whom I know except Layard and the
Emerson Tennents, who will be here on Thursday from Civita Vecchia, and
are to dine with us. The losses up to this point have been two pairs of
shoes (one mine and one Egg's), Collins's snuff-box, and Egg's
dressing-gown.

We observe the managerial punctuality in all our arrangements, and have
not had any difference whatever.

I have been reserving this side all through my letter, in the conviction
that I had something else to tell you. If I had, I cannot remember what
it is. I introduced myself to Salvatore at Vesuvius, and reminded him of
the night when poor Le Gros fell down the mountains. He was full of
interest directly, remembered the very hole, put on his gold-banded
cap, and went up with us himself. He did not know that Le Gros was dead,
and was very sorry to hear it. He asked after the ladies, and hoped they
were very happy, to which I answered, "Very." The cone is completely
changed since our visit, is not at all recognisable as the same place;
and there is no fire from the mountain, though there is a great deal of
smoke. Its last demonstration was in 1850.

I shall be glad to think of your all being at home again, as I suppose
you will be soon after the receipt of this. Will you see to the
invitations for Christmas Day, and write to Laetitia? I shall be very
happy to be at home again myself, and to embrace you; for of course I
miss you _very much_, though I feel that I could not have done a better
thing to clear my mind and freshen it up again, than make this
expedition. If I find Charley much ahead of me, I shall start on through
a night or so to meet him, and leave the others to catch us up. I look
upon the journey as almost closed at Turin. My best love to Mamey, and
Katey, and Sydney, and Harry, and the darling Plornishghenter. We often
talk about them, and both my companions do so with interest. They always
send all sorts of messages to you, which I never deliver. God bless you!
Take care of yourself.

Ever most affectionately.

[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

ROME, _Thursday