I arrived at Mr. R----'s very tired, and accepted an invitation to dine with him at his counting-house. During dinner we philosophized on the subject of religion. 'R---- est vraiment un très bon enfant,' and more obliging than most men of his class,--whenever he thinks he risks nothing by it, which one cannot blame him for. In our religious discussion he had somewhat the best of it, for he is of the ancient nobility in matters of faith: they are the true aristocrats in this subject, and will hear of no innovation or reform. I wound up by saying, with Göthe, _Alle Ansichten sind zu loben_; and drove in a crazy hackney-coach back to the 'West End of the Town,'--where there are neither Jews nor Christians, but only Fashionables and Nobodies,--to hear Pasta sing at Mrs. P----'s, and to play écarté, de moitié with Lord H----'s friend. I came home at four o'clock, fell asleep by rosy day light, and fancied my bed was the moss of a forest. I was waked by a piteous cry: I looked around, and saw a poor devil come plump down through the air from the top of a high tree, and fall on the ground near me. Groaning, and pale as ashes, he crawled up, and cried out that it was all over with him. I was hastening to help him when a creature like an inkstand with a stopper came up, and, with heavy curses, gave the half-dead man several blows with his stopper. I watched my time, pulled out the stopper; and as the ink streamed forth, he changed himself into a Moor in a splendid silver jacket and elegant costume, who cried out laughing, that if I would only let him alone, he would shew me such things as I never saw before. Now began such conjurations as left all the Pinettis and Philadelphias in the world far behind. A large closet changed its contents every minute; and all the treasures of Golconda, with unheard-of curiosities, were presented to my view. My dream went on increasing in extravagance. Did you ever hear of such mad visions as haunt me here? It's the melancholy fog, the suffocating air of London, which clouds my senses. I send them to you therefore, that you may let them out in our own sunshine, and on their heavy wings I lay a thousand affectionate greetings of your faithful Friend, L----. LETTER XVI. _London, June 5th, 1827._ This morning I paid a visit to Mrs. Hope, and saw her husband's collection of works of art more in detail. A very beautiful Venus by Canova was peculiarly interesting to me, having seen it some years ago, unfinished, in the 'atélier' of that delightful artist in Rome; it then left a more agreeable impression on my mind than any of his works.