e was Noble.
If you pass by, pray ask about it--not that I am ever disappointed at
the worst result of an inquiry. I am afraid the ladies of your house
will think me imprudent; and what must be their opinion, if you let it
transpire that I have furthermore invested a part of my scrip in the
beaver trade. Offer my best regards to them all, and believe me,

"My dear sir,

"Yours very sincerely,

"W.S.L."

* * * * *

The following is dated only January 2nd, but the post-mark shows it to
have been written from Bath on that day, 1838.

* * * * *

"MY DEAR SIR,--Yesterday there were lying across my fender three
or four sheets of paper, quite in readiness to dry themselves, and
receive my commands. One of these, I do assure you, was destined for
Torquay, but the interruption of visitors would allow me time only to
cover half a one with my scrawl. Early last week I wrote a long letter
to Bezzi, but wanted the courage to send it. I wish him to remain in
England as much almost as you yourself can do. But if after promising
his lady" [it is noteworthy that such a master of English as Landor,
should use, now for the second time in these letters, this ugly
phrase] "to let her try the air of Italy, he should withdraw, she
might render his life less comfortable by reproaches not altogether
unmerited. When she gets there she will miss her friends; she will
hear nothing but a language which is unknown to her, and will find
that no change of climate can remove her ailments. I offered my house
to Bezzi some time ago, with its two gardens and a hundred acres of
land, all for a hundred a year. But I am confident my son will never
remain in England, and after the expiration of the year will return
to Tuscany. Bezzi cannot find another house, even without garden, for
that money. James paid for a worse twelve louis a month, although he
took it for eight months. So the houses in Tuscany are very far from
inviting to an economist, although vastly less expensive than at
Torquay, the rival of Naples in this respect as in beauty.... I have
found my seal in a waistcoat pocket. I do not think the old woman
stole the forks, but she knew they were stolen.... Kenyon has
something of Falstaff about him, both in the physical and the moral.
But he is a friendly man, of rare judgment in literary works, and of
talents that only fall a little short of genius.

"God preserve you from your