is on the other side of the Lake, and it is quite impossible that I should have so bungled.  Look at the MS.; and at any rate rectify it.

“The ‘Tales of my Landlord’ I have read with great pleasure, and perfectly understand now why my sister and aunt are so very positive in the very erroneous persuasion that they must have been written by me.  If you knew me as well as they do, you would have fallen, perhaps, into the same mistake.  Some day or other, I will explain to you why—­when I have time; at present, it does not much matter; but you must have thought this blunder of theirs very odd, and so did I, till I had read the book.  Croker’s letter to you is a very great compliment; I shall return it to you in my next.

“I perceive you are publishing a Life of Raffael d’Urbino:  it may perhaps interest you to hear that a set of German artists here allow their hair to grow, and trim it into his fashion, thereby drinking the cummin of the disciples of the old philosopher; if they would cut their hair, convert it into brushes, and paint like him, it would be more ‘German to the matter.’

“I’ll tell you a story:  the other day, a man here—­an English—­mistaking the statues of Charlemagne and Constantine, which are equestrian, for those of Peter and Paul, asked another which was Paul of these same horsemen?—­to which the reply was,—­’I thought, sir, that St. Paul had never got on horseback since his accident?’

     “I’ll tell you another:  Henry Fox, writing to some one from Naples
     the other day, after an illness, adds—­’and I am so changed, that
     my oldest creditors would hardly know me.’

“I am delighted with Rome—­as I would be with a bandbox, that is, it is a fine thing to see, finer than Greece; but I have not been here long enough to affect it as a residence, and I must go back to Lombardy, because I am wretched at being away from Marianna.  I have been riding my saddle-horses every day, and been to Albano, its Lakes, and to the top of the Alban Mount, and to Frescati, Aricia, &c. &c. with an &c. &c. &c. about the city, and in the city:  for all which—­vide Guide-book.  As a whole, ancient and modern, it beats Greece, Constantinople, every thing—­at least that I have ever seen.  But I can’t describe, because my first impressions are always strong and confused, and my memory selects and reduces them to order, like distance in the landscape, and blends them better, although they may be less distinct.  There must be a sense or two more than we have, us mortals; for * * * * * where there is much to be grasped we are always at a loss, and yet feel that we ought to have a higher and more extended comprehension.

     “I have had a letter from Moore, who is in some alarm about his
     poem.  I don’t see why.