But one may be allowed to record one's own impressions, and any small incident or anecdote which memory holds, on the grounds set forth by the great writer himself, who says in the introduction to the _American Notes_ (first printed in the biography)--"Very many works having just the same scope and range have been already published.

But I think that these two volumes stand in need of no apology on that account.

The interest of such productions, if they have any, lies in the varying impressions made by the same novel things on different minds, and not in new discoveries or extraordinary adventures." At Florence Dickens made a pilgrimage to Landor's villa, the owner being then absent in England, and gathered a leaf of ivy from Fiesole to carry back to the veteran poet, as narrated by Mr.Forster.

Dickens is as accurate as a topographer in his description of the villa, as looked down on from Fiesole.

How often--ah, _how_ often!--have I looked down from that same dwarf wall over the matchless view where Florence shows the wealth of villas that Ariosto declares made it equivalent to two Romes! Dickens was only thirty-three when I first saw him, being just two years my junior.