g
message from a brother Francis, a young physician settled in India.
She says that her sister told her her father was in bad spirits when
talking to Mr. Payn, which perhaps accounts for his confessing to
the continuing the opium-eating.

Mr. ---- brought me some proofs of his new volume of poems. I think
that if he will take pains he will be a real poet. But it is so
difficult to get young men to believe that correcting and
re-correcting is necessary, and he is a most charming person, and so
gets spoiled. I spoil him myself, God forgive me! although I advise
him to the best of my power. No signs of Mr. Hawthorne yet! Heaven
bless you, my dear friend.

Ever faithfully yours, M.R.M.

October, 1853.

My Very Dear Friend: I cannot thank you enough for the two charming
books which you have sent me. I enclose a letter for the author of
this very remarkable book of Italian travel, and I have written to
dear Mr. Hawthorne myself.

Since I wrote to you, dear Mr. Bennoch sent to me to look out what
letters I could find of poor Haydon's. I was half killed by the
operation, all my sins came upon me; for, lulling my conscience by
carelessness about bills and receipts, and by answering almost every
letter the day it comes, I am in other respects utterly careless,
and my great mass of correspondence goes where fate and K----
decree. We had five great chests and boxes, two huge hampers,
fifteen or sixteen baskets, and more drawers than you would believe
the house could hold, to look over, and at last disinterred
sixty-five. I did not dare read them for fear of the dust, but I
have no doubt they will be most valuable, for his letters were
matchless for talent and spirit. I hope you have reprinted the Life;
if so, of course you will publish the Correspondence. By the way,
it is a curious specimen of the little care our highest people have
for poetry of the ---- school, that Vice-Chancellor Wood, one of the
most accomplished men whom I have ever known, a bosom friend of
Macaulay, was with me last week, and had never heard of Alexander
Smith.

I continue terribly lame, and with no chance of amendment till the
spring, when you will come and do me good. Besides the lameness, I
am also miserably feeble, ten years older than when you saw me last.
I am working as well as I can, but