iend Julius Hare, Marcus by name, a Naval man,
and though not a man of letters, full of sense and knowledge, lives
here in a beautiful place, with a most agreeable and excellent wife, a
daughter of Lord Stanley of Alderley. I had hardly seen them before;
but they are fraternizing with me, in a much better than the Jacobin
fashion; and one only feels ashamed at the enormity of some people's
good-nature. I am in a little rural sort of lodging; and as comfortable
as a solitary oyster can expect to be."--

_To C. Barton_.

"_December 5th_.--This place is extremely small, much more so than
Falmouth even; but pretty, cheerful, and very mild in climate. There are
a great many villas in and about the little Town, having three or
four reception-rooms, eight or ten bedrooms; and costing about fifteen
hundred or two thousand pounds each, and occupied by persons spending
a thousand or more pounds a year. If the Country would acknowledge my
merits by the gift of one of these, I could prevail on myself to come
and live here; which would be the best move for my health I could
make in England; but, in the absence of any such expression of public
feeling, it would come rather dear."--

_To Mrs. Fox again_.

"_December 22d_.--By the way, did you ever read a Novel? If you ever
mean to do so hereafter, let it be Miss Martineau's _Deerbrook_. It is
really very striking; and parts of it are very true and very beautiful.
It is not so true, or so thoroughly clear and harmonious, among
delineations of English middle-class gentility, as Miss Austen's books,
especially as _Pride and Prejudice_, which I think exquisite; but it
is worth reading. _The hour and the Man_ is eloquent, but an absurd
exaggeration.--I hold out so valorously against this Scandinavian
weather, that I deserve to be ranked with Odin and Thor; and fancy I may
go to live at Clifton or Drontheim. Have you had the same icy desolation
as prevails here?"

_To W. Coningham, Esq_.

"_December 28th_.--Looking back to him [a deceased Uncle, father of his
correspondent], as I now very often do, I feel strongly, what the loss
of other friends has also impressed on me, how much Death deepens our
affection; and sharpens our regret for whatever has been even slightly
amiss in our conduct towards those who are gone. What trifles then
swell into painful importance; how we believe that, could the past be
recall