with feelings of Christian fellowship. God grant that this spirit
may continue! Is American literature rich in native biography? Just
have the goodness to mention to me any lives of Americans, whether
illustrious or not, that are graphic, minute, and outspoken. I
delight in French memoirs and English lives, especially such as are
either autobiography or made out by diaries and letters; and
America, a young country with manners as picturesque and unhackneyed
as the scenery, ought to be full of such works. We have had two
volumes lately that will interest your countrymen: Mr. Milnes's Life
of John Keats, that wonderful youth whose early death was, I think,
the greatest loss that English poetry ever experienced. Some of the
letters are very striking as developments on character, and the
richness of diction in the poetical fragments is exquisite. Mrs.
Browning is still at Florence with her husband. She sees more
Americans than English.

Books here are sadly depreciated. Mr. Dyce's admirable edition of
Beaumont and Fletcher, brought out two years ago at L6 12_s._ is now
offered at L2 17_s._

Adieu, dear Mr. Fields; forgive my seeming neglect, and believe me
always most faithfully yours,

M.R. MITFORD.

(No date, 1849.)

Dear Mr. Fields: I cannot tell you how vexed I am at this mistake
about letters, which must have made you think me careless of your
correspondence and ungrateful for your kindness. The same thing has
happened to me before, I may say often, with American letters,--with
Professor Norton, Mrs. Sigourney, the Sedgwicks,--in short I always
feel an insecurity in writing to America which I never experience in
corresponding with friends on the Continent; France, Germany,
Italy, even Poland and Russia, are comparatively certain. Whether it
be the agents in London who lose letters, or some fault in the
post-office, I cannot tell, but I have twenty times experienced the
vexation, and it casts a certain discouragement over one's
communications. However, I hope that this letter will reach you, and
that you will be assured that the fault does not lie at my door.

During the last year or two my health has been declining much, and I
am just now thinking of taking a journey to Paris. My friend, Henry
Chorley of the Athenaeum, the first musical critic of Europe, is
go