God bless you, dear Mamma. Remember the boy.
I have had such a letter from Henry (Mr. Henry Greville); there never was anything like the tenderness of it—you would have been just enchanted.
Venice, September 6.
I believe I told you in my last letter that I was going to spend a few days at Meran with Steinle. Now when I got there I found the place so beautiful and so healthy, and so rich in subjects for "my pencil," that I stayed a week, and this accounts for my being rather behindhand with this letter.
Steinle and I had rooms at a sort of hydropathic boarding-house, with splendid accommodation for bathing in the coldest possible mountain water, a convenience of which I availed myself daily to my great enjoyment.
I lived comme les poules. I was up at daybreak and a good bit before the sun (who takes a long time before he gets his nose into a valley) and went to bed very shortly after sunset; I worked and walked and ate and slept, that was my simple bill of fare. My good Steinle and myself got on, as of course, capitally. He is most affectionate and kind, and I have derived a good deal of artistic advantage from his intercourse even in that short time.
By-the-bye, before I left Frankfurt I received through H. Greville a letter from Mr. Harrison, secretary to Col. Phipps, asking me to go to the Palace to look at the canvas of the "Cimabue," which appeared to be defective in some parts; though what on earth can be the matter with it I don't know; at the same time I got another saying, that as I was not in England, there would be no necessity for me to make a special journey to England on that account, and merely wishing to know when I expected to return. I sent an appropriate answer, which I submitted to Henry Greville, and now am waiting for further instructions from Harrison here in Venice.
Writing of his delight in being again in Italy he adds:—
How I revelled in the first really Italian bit, the lake of Lugano! What an exquisite little picture it is with its villas and terraces, its cypresses and its oleanders, and the little town itself too! stretching its cool arcades along the blue margin of the water; a lovely drive along the lake took me to that of Como, and from thence I went by rail to Milan; stayed a day, went to the Scala, performance so bad I was obliged to leave the house, and now I am for a week in Venice gliding along in lazy gondolas, winking up at grey palaces and glittering domes. I suppose you won't leave Italy this time without seeing Venice once more, and feeding your eyes again on Titian and Bonifazio, Veronese and Tintoretto. By-the-bye, I am doing a sketch from a superb Bonifazio in the Academy here; yesterday I painted hard for six hours, so you see it is not all boats, and now I must close. I will write to you again from Florence, and I hope with a better pen. God bless you, Mammy, give my love to all from your loving boy.
To his father Leighton writes:—