good humouredly, and even made some amiable attempts to convert his opponents.  “His Radicalism,” says Mr. Payne, amusingly, “was entirely a matter of social position and connection.  He was good enough for a Tory.”  As usual, Burton paid a visit to Fryston, and he occasionally scintillated at Lord Houghton’s famous Breakfasts in London.  Once the friends were the guests of a prosperous publisher, who gave them champagne in silver goblets.  “Doesn’t this,” said Lord Houghton, raising a bumper to his lips, “make you feel as if you were drinking out of the skulls of poor devil authors?” For reply Burton tapped his own forehead.

About this time an anonymous letter of Burton’s appeared in The World, but we forget upon what subject.  It excited wide interest, however, and hundreds of persons wrote to Mr. Yates, the editor, for the name of the author.

“Did you see my letter in The World?” enquired Burton of Mrs. E. J. Burton.

“The Christian World?” asked Mrs. Burton innocently.

“No,” replied Burton, sharply, “The Unchristian World.”

Once when Burton was present at some gathering, a missionary caused a shudder to run through the company by saying that he had had the dreadful experience of being present at a cannibal feast.  The cannibals, he said, brought in their prisoner, butchered him, cut him up, and handed the pieces round smoking hot.  With his curious feline laugh, Burton enquired, “Didn’t they offer you any?” “They did,” replied the missionary, “but of course I refused.”  “What a fool you were,” cried Burton, “to miss such a unique opportunity.”

132.  The Pentameron.  Burton and Gladstone.

We must next record a visit to Mr. Payne, who then resided in London.  Burton talked over his projects, and said that he had been wondering what book to take up after the completion of The Nights.  “I think,” said he, “I shall fix upon Boccaccio next.”

“My dear boy,” followed Mr. Payne, “I’ve just done him."[FN#436] As his poem “Salvestra” shows, Mr. Payne’s mind had for long been running on “that sheaf of flowers men call Decameron.”  His brilliant translation was, indeed, already in the press, and it appeared the following year in three volumes.

“You are taking the bread out of my mouth,” commented Burton plaintively.

“But,” continued Mr. Payne, “there is another work that I thought of doing—­The Pentameron,[FN#437] by Giambattista Basile, and if you care to take my place I will not only stand aside but lend you the materials collected for the purpose.”  Burton, who had some knowledge of the Neapolitan dialect but had never met with the work referred to, welcomed the idea; and as soon as he had finished the Nights he commenced a translation of The Pentameron, which, however, was not published until after his death.  His rendering, which cannot be praised, was aptly described by one of the critics as “an uncouth performance.”  Burton also told Payne about the proposed Ariosto translation, and they discussed that too, but nothing was done.