All great men have to pay the penalty of their greatness, and you, arch-bookseller as you are, must now and then be entreated to do many things you only half like to do. I shall half break my heart if you and Bartholdy do not agree.
Now, whether you publish ‘The Carbonari’ or not, I bespeak your acquaintance for the translator, Mr. Eastlake. I want him to see the sort of thing that one only sees in your house, at your morning levies—the traffic of mind and literature, if I may call it so. To a man who has lived most of his grown up life out of England, it is both curious and instructive, and I wish for this advantage for my friend. And in return for what I want you to benefit him, by giving him the entrée to your rooms, I promise you great pleasure in having a gentleman of as much modesty as real accomplishment, and whose taste and talents as an artist must one day place him very high among our native geniuses. You and Mrs. Murray would, I am sure, love him as much as Captain Graham and I do. We met him at Malta on his return from Athens, where he had been with Lord Ruthven’s party. Thence he went to Sicily with Lord Leven. In Rome, we lived in the same house. He was with us at Poli, and last summer at Ascoli with Lady Westmoreland. I have told him that, when he goes to London, he must show you two beautiful pictures he has done for Lord Guilford, views taken in Greece. You will see that his pictures and Lord Byron’s poetry tell the same story of the ‘Land of the Unforgotten Brave.’ I envy you your morning visitors. I am really hungry for a new book. If you are so good as to send me any provision fresh from Murray’s shambles, as Mr. Rose says, address it to me, care of Wm. Eastlake, Esq., Plymouth. Love to Mrs. Murray and children.
P.S.—If Graham has a ship given him at the time, and at the station promised, I shall be obliged to visit London towards the end of March or the beginning of April.
