and a St. Bernard, direct from a convent of that
name, where I think you once were, are their principal attendants in the
green lanes. These latter instantly untie the neckerchiefs of all tramps
and prowlers who approach their presence, so that they wander about
without any escort, and drive big horses in basket-phaetons through
murderous bye-ways, and never come to grief. They are very curious about
your daughters, and send all kinds of loves to them and to Mrs. Cerjat,
in which I heartily join.

You will have read in the papers that the Thames in London is most horrible.
I have to cross Waterloo or London Bridge to get to the railroad when I
come down here, and I can certify that the offensive smells, even in
that short whiff, have been of a most head-and-stomach-distending
nature. Nobody knows what is to be done; at least everybody knows a
plan, and everybody else knows it won't do; in the meantime cartloads of
chloride of lime are shot into the filthy stream, and do something I
hope. You will know, before you get this, that the American telegraph
line has parted again, at which most men are sorry, but very few
surprised. This is all the news, except that there is an Italian Opera
at Drury Lane, price eighteenpence to the pit, where Viardot, by far the
greatest artist of them all, sings, and which is full when the dear
opera can't let a box; and except that the weather has been
exceptionally hot, but is now quite cool. On the top of this hill it has
been cold, actually cold at night, for more than a week past.

I am going over to Rochester to post this letter, and must write another
to Townshend before I go. My dear Cerjat, I have written lightly
enough, because I want you to know that I am becoming cheerful and
hearty. God bless you! I love you, and I know that you love me.

Ever your attached and affectionate.

[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

WEST HOE, PLYMOUTH, _Thursday, Aug. 5th, 1858._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

I received your letter this morning with the greatest pleasure, and read
it with the utmost interest in all its domestic details.

We had a most wonderful night at Exeter. It is to be regretted that we
cannot take the place again on our way back. It was a prodigious cram,
and we turned away no end of people. But not only that, I think they
were the finest audience I have ever read to. I don't think I ever read,
in some respects, so well; and I nev