begin to decay." He, wisest of all, forgot his own good
resolutions; but the listeners to these latter-day Idyls were few, and
Landor had scarce collected his small audience before the lights were
blown out and the curtain fell upon the deathbed of the singer.

To express a liking for any of Landor's pictures--provided you were a
friend--was almost sufficient to cause them to be taken down and
presented to you; hence to praise anything in his presence was
exceedingly unsafe. I remember looking over a large album once belonging
to Barker, the English artist, which Landor had purchased to relieve him
of certain debts, and particularly admiring four original sketches by
Turner--two in oil and two in india-ink--that had been given by this
artist to his brother-painter. No sooner had I spoken than Landor went
in search of the scissors, and, had I not earnestly protested, would
have cut out the Turners and given them to me. Such being Landor's
disposition, one can well imagine how easily he could be imposed upon by
designing people. There is an instance of his kindly feeling so
prominent and so honorable both to himself and the object of it, that it
is but right the public should read the contents of two letters
belonging to and greatly treasured by me. They were put into my hands
nearly four years ago by Landor to do with as I pleased after his death.
The letters explain themselves.

"8 SOUTH BANK, REGENT'S PARK,
LONDON, March 24, 1856.

"MY VENERABLE FRIEND,--

"Though I very gratefully appreciate the generosity of your intentions,
still I must confess that few things have ever affected me more
painfully than to see from the 'Times' of to-day my private
circumstances--the sacred domain of life--thrust as an object of
commiseration upon public discussion,--a miserable subject of public
sneers.

"My head turns giddy at the very thought, and my resignation is scarcely
able to overcome the shame. I don't know how I shall muster sufficient
resolution to appear in public ever hereafter; and I fear, with all your
good intentions, you shall have become the involuntary instrument for
driving me out of England before my time. I really scarcely can imagine
what else I have to do, unless you devise some means for healing the
wound.

"I am poor, very poor; but there was, I dare say, something honorable in
that poverty, something sacred I would say. But seeing it made the
object of a public appeal for commiseration, I