Yet how different from Landor's! Both written beneath the sunny sky of Italy, both scholars, and nearly of the same age, nevertheless, how widely different are their letters! Gell's filled with lively and comic details of persons, seldom fail to make me laugh; Landor's, wholly devoted to literary subjects, set me thinking.

Cell would die of _ennui_ in the solitude Landor has selected; Landor would be chafed into irritation in the constant routine of visiting and dining-out in which Gell finds amusement.

But here am I attempting to draw a parallel where none can be established, for Landor is a man of genius, Gell a man of talent.
Was at the Opera last night, and saw the Duc d'Orleans there with his family.

They are a fine-looking flock, male and female, and looked as happy as they are said to be.
I know no position more enviable than that of the Duc d'Orleans.
Blessed with health, a princely revenue, an admirable wife, fine children, and many friends, he can have nothing to desire but a continuance of these blessings.

Having experienced adversity, and nobly endured the ordeal, he must feel with an increased zest the happiness now accorded to him,--a happiness that seems so full and complete, that I can fancy no addition possible to it.
His vast wealth may enable him to exercise a generosity that even sovereigns can rarely practise; his exalted rank, while it places him near a throne, precludes him from the eating cares that never fail to attend even the most solidly established one, and leaves him free to enjoy the happiness of domestic life in a family circle said to contain every ingredient for creating it.
The fondest husband, father, and brother, he is fortunate beyond most men in his domestic relations, and furnishes to France a bright example of irreproachable conduct and well-merited felicity in them all.