ere; very droll, and very wayward: and much sitting up
of nights till two and three in the morning with pipes in our mouths: at
which good hour we would get Alfred to give us some of his magic music,
which he does between growling and smoking; and so to bed. All this has
not cured my Influenza as you may imagine: but these hours shall be
remembered long after the Influenza is forgotten.

I have bought scarce any new books or prints: and am not sorry to see
that I want so little more. One large purchase I have made however, the
Biographie Universelle, 53 Octavo Volumes. It contains everything, and
is the very best thing of its kind, and so referred to by all historians,
etc. Surely nothing is more pleasant than, when some name crosses one,
to go and get acquainted with the owner of the name: and this Biographie
really has found places for people whom one would have thought almost too
small for so comprehensive a work--which sounds like a solecism, or Bull,
does it not?

Now I must finish my letter: and a very stupid one it is. Here is a
sentence of Warburton's that, I think, is very wittily expressed: though
why I put it in here is not very discoverable. 'The Church, like the Ark
of Noah, is worth saving: not for the sake of the unclean beasts that
almost filled it, and probably made most noise and clamour in it, but for
the little corner of rationality, that was as much distressed by the
stink within, as by the tempest without.' Is it not good? It is out of
his letters: {52} and the best thing in them. It is also the best thing
in mine.

With kind remembrances to Miss Barton, believe me, Yours very
affectionately

E. FITZGERALD.

[LONDON, 8 _June_, 1838.]

DEAR SIR,

I have just come home after accompanying my Father and Lusia to their
starting place in the City: they are off for Suffolk for some days. I
should have written to you by them: but I only just now found your letter
on the mantelpiece: there it has lain some days during which I have been
ruralising in Bedfordshire. Delicious has it been there: such weather,
such meadows, to enjoy: and the Ouse still wandering along at his ease
through pretty villages and vales of his own beautifying. I am much in
love with Bedfordshire: it beats our part of the world: and I am sure you
would like it. But here I am come back to London for another three weeks
I suppose. . . .

I should much like to see your Platonic Brother. By your account he must
have