Happy, in my opinion, is the country which possesses such men; though the friends and admirers of each would probably feel little disposed to admit any comparison to be instituted between them, and would deride, if not assail, any one for making it.

Sir Francis Burdell dined here yesterday, and we had the Count Alexandra de Laborde and Count Charles de Mornay, to meet him.  Several people came in the evening.  I have lent a pile of books to Sir F. B., who continues to read as much as formerly, and forgets nothing that he peruses.  His information is, consequently, very extensive, and renders his conversation very interesting.  His thirst for knowledge is insatiable, and leads him to every scientific resort where it may be gratified.

Spent last evening at Madame Craufurd’s.  Met there, the Princesse Castelcicala and her daughter, Lady Drummond, Mr. T. Steuart, and various others—­among them, a daughter of the Marquess of Ailesbury, who has married a French nobleman, and resides in Paris.

Lady Drummond talked to me a good deal of Sir William, and evinced much respect for his memory.  She is proud, and she may well be so, of having been the wife of such a man; though there was but little sympathy between their tastes and pursuits, and his death can produce so little change in her habits of life, that she can scarcely be said to miss him.

He passed his days and the greater portion of his nights in reading or writing, living in a suite of rooms literally filled with books; the tables, chairs, sofas, and even the floors, being encumbered with them, going out only for a short time in a carriage to get a little air, or occasionally to dine out.

He seldom saw Lady Drummond, except at dinner, surrounded by a large party.  She passed, as she still passes her time, in the duties of an elaborate toilette, paying or receiving visits, giving or going to fetes, and playing with her lap-dog.  A strange wife for one of the most intellectual men of his day!  And yet this total dissimilarity produced no discord between them; for she was proud of his acquirements, and he was indulgent to her less spirituelle tastes.

Lady Drummond does much good at Naples; for, while the beau monde of that gay capital are entertained in a style of profuse hospitality at her house, the poor find her charity dispensed with a liberal hand in all their exigencies; so that her vast wealth is a source of comfort to others as well as to herself.

I have been reading Vivian Grey—­a very wild, but very clever book, full of genius in its unpruned luxuriance; the writer revels in all the riches of a brilliant imagination, and expends them prodigally—­dazzling, at one moment, by his passionate eloquence, and, at another, by his touching pathos.

A pleasant dinner-party, yesterday.  The Duc de Mouchy, the Marquis de Mornay, Count Flahault, the Count Maussion, Mons. de Montrond, and Mr. Standish, were the guests.  Count Flahault is so very agreeable and gentlemanly a man, that no one can call in question the taste of the Baroness Keith in selecting him for her husband.