“I have not made much progress in French; everyone speaks English except the _ouvriers_. I address a waiter in a splendid sentence, which I expect will strike him with awe, and impress him with my knowledge of the French language, and he takes me down by answering in English; as much as to say, ‘For goodness’ sake speak your own language, and I shall understand you better.’ In such a state of things, one can only listen to the conversation of Frenchmen with one another, and try to imitate their accent. In spite of beard and mustachios, it is _Voilà les Anglais_ wherever we go. The only person who passes for a Frenchman is one of our American fellow-travellers, who has grown a most venerable beard; but, as he pronounces French just as if it were English, and calls Dijon ‘_Dee John_,’ he is afraid to open his mouth for fear of being convicted as an impostor immediately. I think an Englishman’s walk betrays him; I think there is an unconscious swagger about it, which savours strongly of ‘ros-bif,’ and which the French detect in a moment. However, they are most polite and obliging, and I think they would be glad to do you any service.” In Italy, he went from city to city, revelling in picture galleries and studios, as his eyes regained strength; taking lessons in Italian, visiting spots of historical interest, and sympathising with, and appreciating, the Italians, while wondering at their patience under the yoke of their Governments. It was the same winter which Mr. Gladstone spent in Italy, and signalized by his pamphlet on the political prisoners at Naples. Fortunately for my brother, he found Mr. Senior and his family at Naples, and again at Rome, and through their kindness, and that of Lady Malcolm, saw as much of Italian society as he cared for. A few selections from his letters will show you how he spent his time, and the impressions which his Italian travel left on his mind:— “NAPLES, _January 7, 1851_.