so mixed up with those dearest to her, and his memory must always recall theirs.  I hear Campbell means to write his life.  His letters to me will perhaps be published in it.  Had I known they were likely to be so used, I would have preserved them all.  As it is, it is the merest chance that all of them are not destroyed; for, admirable as they were in point of taste and critical judgment, some of them seemed to me such mere specimens of refined flattery that, having extracted the advice likely to be profitable to me, I committed the epistles themselves to the flames, which probably would have been the ultimate destination of them all; but now they have acquired a sad value they had not before, and I shall keep them as relics of a man of great genius and, in many respects, I believe, a truly amiable person.

The drawing, which is, you know, my mother’s property, is safe in Mr. Lane’s hands, and will be restored to us on Saturday.  The funeral takes place to-morrow; my father, I believe, will attend; neither my mother nor myself can muster courage to witness it, although we had places offered to us.  It is to take place in St. Paul’s, for Westminster Abbey is full.  All the beautiful unfinished portraits which filled his rooms will be returned imperfect to their owners, and I wonder who will venture to complete them, for he has certainly not left his like behind him.  Reports have been widely spread that his circumstances were much embarrassed, but I fancy when all his effects are sold there will be a small surplus.  He behaved with the utmost liberality about his drawing of me, for he gave it to my mother, and would not accept of any remuneration for the copyright of the print from Mr. Lane—­who, it is said, made three hundred pounds by the first impressions taken from it—­saying that he had had so much pleasure in the work that he would not take a farthing for either time or trouble.

     We are all tolerably well; I am quite so, and rejoice daily in that
     strength of constitution which, among other of my qualifications,
     entitles me to the appellation of “Shetland pony.”

How are you all?  How is E——?  Tell her all about me, because it may amuse her.  I wish you could have seen me, dear H——­, in my Greek dress; I really look very well in it, and taller than usual, in consequence of all the long draperies; moreover, I “stood grandly” erect, and put off the “sidelong stoop” in favor of a more heroic and statue-like deportment.  Oh, H——­, I am exceedingly happy, et pour peu de chose, perhaps you will think:  my father has given me leave to have riding lessons, so that I shall be in right earnest “an angel on horseback,” and when I come to Ardgillan (and it won’t be long first) I shall make you mount upon a horse and gallop over the sand with me; won’t you, my dear?  Believe me ever your affectionate

FANNY.