owing hard. There is not a
door or window here--but that's nothing! there's not a door or window in
all Paris--that shuts; not a chink in all the billions of trillions of
chinks in the city that can he stopped to keep the wind out. And the
cold!--but you shall judge for yourself; and also of this preposterous
dining-room. The invention, sir, of Henry Bulwer, who when he had
executed it (he used to live here), got frightened at what he had done,
as well he might, and went away. . . . The Brave called me aside on
Saturday night, and showed me an improvement he had effected in the
decorative way. 'Which,' he said, 'will very much s'prize Mis'r Fors'er
when he come.' You are to be deluded into the belief that there is a
perspective of chambers twenty miles in length, opening from the
drawing-room. . . ."

My visit was not yet due, however, and what occupied or interested him
in the interval may first be told. He had not been two days in Paris
when a letter from his father made him very anxious for the health of
his eldest sister. "I was going to the play (a melodrama in eight acts,
five hours long), but hadn't the heart to leave home after my father's
letter," he is writing on the 30th of November, "and sent Georgy and
Kate by themselves. There seems to be no doubt whatever that Fanny is in
a consumption." She had broken down in an attempt to sing at a party in
Manchester; and subsequent examination by Sir Charles Bell's son, who
was present and took much interest in her, too sadly revealed the cause.
"He advised that neither she nor Burnett should be told the truth, and
my father has not disclosed it. In worldly circumstances they are very
comfortable, and they are very much respected. They seem to be happy
together, and Burnett has a great deal of teaching. You remember my
fears about her when she was in London the time of Alfred's marriage,
and that I said she looked to me as if she were in a decline? Kate took
her to Elliotson, who said that her lungs were certainly not affected
then. And she cried for joy. Don't you think it would be better for her
to be brought up, if possible, to see Elliotson again? I am deeply,
deeply grieved about it." This course was taken, and for a time there
seemed room for hope; but the result will be seen. In the same letter I
heard of poor Charles Sheridan, well known to us both, dying of the same
terrible disease; and his chief, Lord Normanby, whose many acts of
sympathy and kindness had i