When shall you return? You spoke of remaining a fortnight only at ----; but I suppose that you will, as usual, string out that fortnight into a long month. I desire earnestly to see you soon and take a walk, as we used to do, admiring radiant nature. It would be for me a rare occasion to enjoy a little poetry. Farewell, dear friend. Write to me. If you have at your disposal none but the town library, you would do well to read _Lucian_, in the translation of Pierrot d’Ablancourt, or some one else; it would amuse you, and indulge your Hellenic tastes. I am deep in a history of Peter the Great, which I mean to share with the public. He was an abominable man, surrounded by abominable scamps. His history amuses me no little. Write to me as soon as you have received my letter. CCLXXIV LONDON, _British Museum_, _July 21, 1864_. DEAR FRIEND: You have guessed my retreat. I have been here since the last time we met, or, to speak more exactly, since the following day. I spend my time, from eight at night until midnight, in dining out, and the morning in examining books and statues, or else in writing my long article on the son of Peter the Great, to which I am tempted to give the title: _On the Danger of Being Stupid_, for the moral to be drawn from my work is the necessity of being clever. I think you will find, here and there, in a score of pages, some things which would interest you, notably how Peter the Great was deceived by his wife. I have translated with great care and pains the letters of his wife to her lover, who was impaled for his trouble. They are really better than one would expect of the time and country in which she wrote, but love works miracles. It was a misfortune that she did not know how to spell, which makes it extremely difficult for grammarians like myself to guess what she means. These are my plans: I am to go, Monday, to Chevenings, to visit Lord Stanhope, where I shall stay three days. Thursday I shall dine here with a large company, leaving immediately afterwards for Paris.