“F.O. is much puzzled, we all have heard recently, To find proper Envoys to send to each Court; And while Lyons at Paris may get along decently, We rejoice to hear Elliott _est mis à la Porte._” _To Mr John Blackwood._ “British Consulate, Trieste, _July_ 2,1867. “Though my cry, like the starling’s, is still ‘I can’t get out,’ I exist in the hope that I am not to be left to die here. “I send you a short bit on Miramar that I hope you may like. I’ll follow it with something lighter, but I send this now to acknowledge your note and its eighteen-pounder (a shot in my locker that told with considerable effect). I see you will not pity me for being sentenced to this d------d place, but if you only saw the faces of the Shylocks you’d be more compassionate. If nothing else offer, I’ll try and negotiate an exchange with Flynn. I’ll be shot if there must not be something amongst the convicts more companionable than here.” _To Mr John Blackwood._ “Villa Morelli, Florence, _Sept_. 5,1867. “I am passing my last few days at the Villa Morelli, and mean to leave for good--if that be the phrase for it--on Monday next. My wife is still very ill, and very unfit for the fatigue of a journey; but short of giving up my post, I have no alternative. I hoped to have heard from you before I wrote, but as I have a quiet half hour--not a very frequent thing with me of late--I sit down to inflict it on you. I wish, besides, to ask and learn from you--shall you want me seriously next year,--that is, do you care to have a novel from me any time about April or May next? I am driven to ask this because I have had a proposal which, if you want me, I shall certainly not accept, nor am I sure I shall even in the other alternative. “I am always hoping that each book I write will be my last; and if it were not that I have taken (mentally) as many farewells as Grey, I’d say this new and not-a-bit-the-less-on-that-account-much-to-be-thought-over story would be my final curtsey to an indulgent public. “It seems to me you won’t believe in a war in England. It is part of the national hypocrisy to cry peace while our neighbours are whetting their knives and polishing their breechloaders. War is certain, nevertheless--as sure as the devil is in hell and I am a consul!--two facts so apparently alike, it seems tantalising to mention them. “We are in for a little war of our own, meanwhile, with the African savage,--perhaps to serve as an excuse for not taking part in the bigger fight near home. This policy reminds me of an old Irish squire who, being a bad horseman, always excused himself when the hounds met near him by saying ‘he was off for a rat-hunt.’ “The next Glasgow steamer that leaves Trieste will bring you a few bottles of Maraschino, which, as Cattaro is one of my dependencies, will be real. I wish I could think I’d see you sip a glass with me one of these days beside the blue Adriatic.” _To Mr John Blackwood._ “Trieste, _Oct_. 18.