In point of climate, so far, Italy has turned out a fraud.  We dare not face Venice, and Mr. Fenili will weep over my defection; but that is better than that we should cough over his satisfaction.

I am quite pleased to hear of the theological turn of the family.  It must be a drop of blood from one of your eight great-grandfathers, for none of your ancestors that I have known would have developed in this way.

...Best love to Nettie and Harry.  Tell the former that cabbages do not cost 5 shillings apiece, and the latter that 11 P.M. is the cloture.

Ever your affectionate Pater.

Hotel Brittanique, Naples, November 30, 1884.

My dear Foster,

Which being St. Andrew’s Day, I think the expatriated P. ought to give you some account of himself.

We had a prosperous journey to Locarno, but there plumped into bitter cold weather, and got chilled to the bone as the only guests in the big hotel, though they did their best to make us comfortable.  I made a shot at bronchitis, but happily failed, and got all right again.

Pallanza was as bad.  At Milan temperature at noon 39 degrees F., freezing at night.  Verona much the same.  Under these circumstances, we concluded to give up Venice and made for Bologna.  There found it rather colder.  Next Ravenna, where it snowed.  However, we made ourselves comfortable in the queer hotel, and rejoiced in the mosaics of that sepulchral marsh.

At Bologna I had assurances that the Sicilian quarantine was going to be taken off at once, and as the reports of the railway travelling and hotels in Calabria were not encouraging, I determined to make for Naples, or rather, by way of extra caution, for Castellamare.  All the way to Ancona the Apennines were covered with snow, and much of the plain also.  Twenty miles north of Ancona, however, the weather changed to warm summer, and we rejoiced accordingly.  At Foggia I found that the one decent hotel that used to exist was non-extant, so we went on to Naples.

Arriving at 10.30 very tired, got humbugged by a lying Neapolitan, who palmed himself off as the commissaire of the Hotel Bristol, and took us into an omnibus belonging to another hotel, that of the Bristol being, as he said, “broke.”  After a drive of three miles or so got to the Bristol and found it shut up!  After a series of adventures and a good deal of strong language on my part, knocked up the people here, who took us in, though the hotel was in reality shut up like most of those in Naples. [Owing to the cholera and consequent dearth of travellers.]

As usual the weather is “unusual”—­hot in the sun, cold round the corner and at night.  Moreover, I found by yesterday’s paper that the beastly Sicilians won’t give up their ten days’ quarantine.  So all chance of getting to Catania or Palermo is gone.  I am not sure whether we shall stay here for some time or go to Rome, but at any rate we shall be here a week.