may understand by that all that is intelligent and courteous and charming.” (I suppose he means such manners as our Emperor’s.) He began by saying that his life was a mere misery to him from nerves, and that he could only render it endurable by a semi-inebriation with opium. (I always thought he had not left opium off.)....  On his return, James Payn again visited Harriet Martineau, who talked frankly about the book, exculpating Mr. Atkinson and taking all the blame to herself.  She asked if I had read it, and on finding that I had not, said, “It was better so.”  There are fine points about Harriet Martineau.  Mrs. Browning is positively crazy about the spirit-rappings.  She believes every story, European or American, and says our Emperor consults the mediums, which I disbelieve.

The above was written yesterday.  To-day has brought me a charming letter from Miss De Quincey.  She has been very ill, but is now back at Lasswade, and longing most earnestly to persuade her father to return to Grasmere.  Will she succeed?  She sends me a charming message from a brother Francis, a young physician settled in India.  She says that her sister told her her father was in bad spirits when talking to Mr. Payn, which perhaps accounts for his confessing to the continuing the opium-eating.

Mr. ——­ brought me some proofs of his new volume of poems.  I think that if he will take pains he will be a real poet.  But it is so difficult to get young men to believe that correcting and re-correcting is necessary, and he is a most charming person, and so gets spoiled.  I spoil him myself, God forgive me! although I advise him to the best of my power.  No signs of Mr. Hawthorne yet!  Heaven bless you, my dear friend.

    Ever faithfully yours, M.R.M.

    October, 1853.

My Very Dear Friend:  I cannot thank you enough for the two charming books which you have sent me.  I enclose a letter for the author of this very remarkable book of Italian travel, and I have written to dear Mr. Hawthorne myself.

Since I wrote to you, dear Mr. Bennoch sent to me to look out what letters I could find of poor Haydon’s.  I was half killed by the operation, all my sins came upon me; for, lulling my conscience by carelessness about bills and receipts, and by answering almost every letter the day it comes, I am in other respects utterly careless, and my great mass of correspondence goes where fate and K——­ decree.  We had five great chests and boxes, two huge hampers, fifteen or sixteen baskets, and more drawers than you would believe the house could hold, to look over, and at last disinterred sixty-five.  I did not dare read them for fear of the dust, but I have no doubt they will be most valuable, for his letters were matchless for talent and spirit.  I hope you have reprinted the Life; if so, of course you will publish the Correspondence.  By the way, it is a curious specimen of the little