ne knew, for
his resources remained at the lowest ebb. Perhaps his friends helped
him, for English Liberals of good means regarded him as a martyr in the
cause of freedom, one who would never bow the knee to Baal, and who had
dared the first Napoleon when his very word was law. But Foscolo's
friends without doubt became tired of his extravagance and his
licentious habits, and fell away from him. Disease at last found him
out; he died of dropsy at Turnham Green, near Hammersmith, in 1827, when
only in the fiftieth year of his age, and was buried in Chiswick
churchyard; but in June 1871 his body was exhumed and conveyed to
Florence, where he was buried in Santa Croce, between the tomb of
Alfieri and the monument of Dante.

Lady Caroline Lamb had continued to keep up her intimacy with Mr.
Murray; and now that she was preparing a new work for the press, her
correspondence increased. While he was at Wimbledon during summer, she
occasionally met literary friends at his house. She had already
published "Glenarvon," the hero of which was supposed to represent Lord
Byron, and was now ready with "Penruddock." "I am in great anxiety," she
wrote to Mr. Murray, "about your not informing me what Gifford says. I
think it might be a civil way of giving me my death-warrant--if
'Penruddock' does not."

Whether the criticism of Mr. Gifford was too severe, or whether Mr.
Murray was so much engaged in business and correspondence as to take no
notice of Lady Caroline Lamb's communication, does not appear; but she
felt the neglect, and immediately followed it up with another letter as
follows:

_Lady Caroline Lamb to John Murray_.

_December 8, 1822_.

MY DEAR AND MOST OBSTINATELY SILENT SIR,

From one until nine upon Tuesday I shall be at Melbourne House waiting
for you; but if you wish to see the prettiest woman in England,--besides
myself and William--be at Melbourne House at quarter to six, at which
hour we dine; and if you will come at half-past one, or two, or three,
to say you will dine and to ask me to forgive your inexorable and
inhuman conduct, pray do, for I arrive at twelve in that said home and
leave it at nine the ensuing morning. What can have happened to you that
you will not write?

The following letter from William Lamb (afterwards Lord Melbourne), the
long-suffering and generous husband of this wayward lady, refers to a
novel entitled "Ada Reis."

_The Honble. William Lamb to John Murray_.

_December 20, 1822_.