"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. "I have had another from my poor dear Augusta, who is in a sad fuss about my late illness; do, pray, tell her (the truth) that I am better than ever, and in importunate health, growing (if not grown) large and ruddy, and congratulated by impertinent persons on my robustious appearance, when I ought to be pale and interesting. "You tell me that George Byron has got a son, and Augusta says, a daughter; which is it?--it is no great matter: the father is a good man, an excellent officer, and has married a very nice little woman, who will bring him more babes than income; howbeit she had a handsome dowry, and is a very charming girl;--but he may as well get a ship.