the chief charms of Naples.  We have not been able to renew our old memories of that sort at all, except by a railway journey to Pompeii; and our days are spent in the museum and in the sunniest out-of-door spots.  We have been twice to the San Carlo, which we were the more pleased to do, because when we were here before, that fine theatre was closed.  The singing is so-so, and the tenor especially is gifted with limbs rather than with voice or ear.  But there is a baritone worth hearing and a soprano, whom the Neapolitans delight to honour with hideous sounds of applause.

“We are longing for a soft wind, which will allow us to take the long drive to Baiae during one of our remaining days here.  At present we think of leaving for Rome on Sunday or Monday.  But our departure will probably be determined by an answer from the landlord of the Hotel de Minerva, to whom Mr. Lewes has written.  We have very comfortable quarters here, out of the way of that English and American society, whose charms you can imagine.  Our private dinner is well served; and I am glad to be away from the Chiaja, except—­the exception is a great one—­for the sake of the sunsets which I should have seen there.

“Mr. Lewes has found a book by an Italian named Franchi, formerly a priest, on the present condition of philosophy in Italy.  He emerges from its depths—­or shallows—­to send his best remembrances; and to Bice he begs especially to recommend Plantation Bitters.

“I usually think all the more of things and places the farther I get from them, and, on that ground, you will understand that at Naples I think of Florence, and the kindness I found there under my small miseries.  Pray offer my kind regards to Miss Blagden when you see her, and tell her that I hope to shake hands with her in London this spring.

“We shall obey Mr. Trollope’s injunctions to write again from Perugia or elsewhere, according to our route homeward.  But pray warn him, that when my throat is not sore, and my head not stagnant, I am a much fiercer antagonist.  It is perhaps a delight to one’s egoism to have a friend who is among the best of men with the worst of theories.  One can be at once affectionate and spit-fire.  Pray remember me with indulgence, all of you, and believe, dear Mrs. Trollope,

“Most truly yours,

“M.E.  LEWES.”

* * * * *

It will be seen from the above that George Eliot had very quickly fraternised—­what is the feminine form?—­with my second wife, as I, without any misgivings, foresaw would be the case.  Indeed subsequent circumstances allowed a greater degree of intimacy to grow up between them than had been possible in the case of my Bice’s mother, restricted as her intercourse with the latter had been by failing health, and the comparative fewness of the hours they had passed together.  Neither she nor Lewes had ever passed a night under my roof until I received them in the villa at Ricorboli, where I lived with my second wife.