.

I met a young foreigner in the train from Dover [he wrote to her]--a curious sort of person altogether, who seems to have infected me.

Everything here has gone flat and unprofitable; the only good things in life are your letters....

John Noble dined with me yesterday; the poor fellow tried to persuade me to stand for Parliament.

Why should I think myself fit to legislate for the unhappy wretches one sees about in the streets?
If people's faces are a fair test of their happiness, I' d rather not feel in any way responsible....
The streets, in fact, after his long absence in the East, afforded him much food for thought: the curious smugness of the passers-by; the utterly unending bustle; the fearful medley of miserable, over-driven women, and full-fed men, with leering, bull-beef eyes, whom he saw everywhere--in club windows, on their beats, on box seats, on the steps of hotels, discharging dilatory duties; the appalling chaos of hard-eyed, capable dames with defiant clothes, and white-cheeked hunted-looking men; of splendid creatures in their cabs, and cadging creatures in their broken hats--the callousness and the monotony! One afternoon in May he received this letter couched in French: 3, BLANK ROW WESTMINSTER.
MY DEAR SIR, Excuse me for recalling to your memory the offer of assistance you so kindly made me during the journey from Dover to London, in which I was so fortunate as to travel with a man like you.