Rome, Septr. 19th. 1828

My dear friend,

You have very good reason to suppose that I do not care a
straw for you, but the fact is that for some time past I have not been
thinking of anyone person more than of you, whom at the present moment I
want at my elbow, and I wish I could be convey'd in an Asmodean phial in
the course of this autumn to Garden Court. One day or other you will
probably know why I am so beleaguer'd by this potent but not omnipotent
wish. I have been here alone all the summer sweating at my desk to the
great detriment of no inconsiderable number of goose-quills. I am told
that those of the vulture are more economical. My sister-in-law has
turn'd Naiad at the Baths of Lucca, and been amusing herself with
disporting in the gentle flood, while my wife has been subjected to the
very unpleasant discipline of being pump'd upon by a machine of barbarous
invention called a douche, or "apud Italos" doccia. I have enjoy'd the
careless life of a bachelor inasmuch as I have had no interruptions to my
miscellaneous lucubrations, and I have not been uneasy with regard to my
appendages, as I understand that they have conducted themselves soberly,
righteously, and with decorous propriety, the truth of which can be
attested by one Mr. John Hogg A.B. who paid them a visit there. A Latin
letter from the Baths of Lucca, when all the beauty and fashion are
there, would be delicious. And to see old Barnes of Peterhouse read it!

My correspondence was invited by Mr. Murray for his Representative, but
the paper died, before I could become *articl'd* to it. Furthermore my
counsel was appeal'd to by the editor as to the conduct & composition of
the said paper. I gave my opinion as briefly as I could without a fee,
and, I assure you wrote quite an Aristotelian chapter on newspapers or
[Greek]. There is a new Greek vocable for you. But my advice was not
follow'd, and so the parliament of the Representative was short. Who
could ever think of such a title for a newspaper I cannot conceive. I in
vain seek for an oven wherein to bake my petits-pateés, of which there
are batches enough ready, and I long to hear them proclaimed "a penny a
piece, all hot".

I tell you confidentially that I mean e'er very long to Force these
book-mongers into compliance. I have thought of something which will
take, a sallad into which I will throw in a due proportion of salt,
pepper, and vinegar. One of my great objects will be to attack the old
demon *Humbug* in his head-quarters, and I hope to make the thing so
popular that people *must* read. I beg you will not let a word escape to
any living wight about this project of mine, of which perhaps you will
hear more.

I very much wish to hear whether there is any chance of my congratulating
you on being *speruccato*. I hope so, for the sight of an English
barrister's wig would now be too severe a shock for my delicate nerves.
It is devoutly to be hop'd that this among the thousand and one
absurdities in the isle of Laputa will be abolish'd. My father &
grandfather will dialogize upon it, when the news shall reach the Elysian
fields. The former was as inveterate an enemy to wigs, whether
cauliflowers, goosebery-bushes, bobs, buckles, three-tail'd, or full
bottom'd, as the latter was their warm partizan, and drew direful omens
of democracy & heterodoxy from a cross. The political economists hunting
after a reason for the bubble-bursting so prevalent of late are like a
man groping about for his nightcap, when it is on his head. How wise

must the Nortonians look now! I suppose you hear of nothing but "cash",
"circulating medium", "rate of labour", & such phrases; and Say, and
Ricardo, and Malthus must be both unstitch'd, and thumb-worn, and
frightfully dog-ear'd to boot. Many a long-drawn sigh, many a
significant "humph", many a "I am decidedly of opinion", and some few
bets.

Severn has been here all the summer. He is well, and continues making
faces. His vintage has had great success. Mr. Eastlake has just
finish'd a picture of another kind; a historical painting of Isadys [f]a/
defeating the Thebans at Sparta, which is a painting as nearly
approaching to perfection as any that I know. Why? Because Eastlake is a
thoroughly good classical scholar, and *feels* his subject. It has met
with unqualified praise from the Italians, French, and Germans.

I beg to be remembered to the Ex-Traveller, and tell him I hope he will
become a good *fellow* in time. My remembrances also wait upon Mr. L.
Hunt, when you shall see him. If my ladies were now here I think it very
probable that they would desire to be remember'd to you notwithstanding
your quiz upon table-pines, for which the awful shade of Madame de Stael
rises up in judgment against you. Pray let me know a little how matters
legal and political go on; only do not report me a sessions case, or I
shall send you back a commentary on the Pandects. Write soon to

Addressed to J. Hogg Esqr, Norton, Durham.

MURRAY, HUNT, SEVERN, EASTLAKE, DE STAEL AND THE HOGG BROTHERS:
AN ENGLISH EXPATRIATE IN THE ROMANTICS' ROME

FINCH, 'Colonel' Robert (1783-1830). Fine A.L.S. ('R. F.') to Thomas Jefferson Hogg, 4 pp., 4to., incorporating address panel with seal and postal markings. Rome, 19 September 1826. £350

Robert Finch was a prominent member of the English expatriate colony in Italy, a connoisseur of art and antiquities who died untimely of malaria, leaving his collections to the Ashmolean and to Balliol College; he had lived abroad since 1814. Byron kept company with him in 1816 (see Marchand, ed., *Letters*, v, 136 etc., and *Byron, ii*, 664 and 670), and the Shelleys met him in Rome, finding him 'ridiculous, and a great bore'. He was evidently a good gossip, as Henry Crabb Robinson reported in 1829, and on the evidence of this letter a would-be literary wit--which no dount would have alienated the Shelleys. He probably met T. J. Hogg on the latter's tour to the continent, which Hogg undertook in 1824-5 to satisfy his betrothed, Jane Williams, the widow of Shelley's friend and shipmate Edward: she had insisted on him cultivating himself before marriage--which did eventuate--and Hogg wrote a lightweight book about the excursion, *Two Hundred and Nine Days* (1827). Finch sends him news of his younger brother John Hogg, the aspiring classicist, who has been visiting with Finch, his wife a sister-in-law who 'has turn'd Naiad at the Baths of Lucca' under John's inspection; he reports on Keats's companion Joseph Severn, who 'has been here all summer ... is well, and continues making faces' [i.e., portraits], and the more distinguished painter Charles Eastlake, who 'has just finish'd a picture of another kind, a historical painting of Isadas defeating the Thebans at Sparta'. This Finch praises extravagantly ('as nearly approaching perfection as any that I know ... because Eastlake is a thoroughly good classical scholar, and *feels* his subject'), as have 'the Italians, French, and Germans'; in 1827 the canvas would take London by storm too.

Finch digresses about 'the political economists hunting after a reason for the bubble-bursting so prevalent of late ... like a man groping about for his nightcap ... I suppose you hear of nothing but 'cash', 'circulating medium', 'rate of labour', & such phrases; and Say, and Ricardo, and Malthus must be unstitch'd, and thumb-worn, a frightfully dog-ear'd to boot ...'. He evokes 'the awful shade of Madame de Stael' and offers 'my remembrances' to 'L[eigh] Hunt, when you shall see him'. And he gives a very interesting account of John Murray's soliciting his advice and cooperation on the ill-fated journal *The Representative* (Disraeli's pet), although 'the paper died, before I could become *articl'd* to it'. In quest of 'an oven wherein to bake my petits-pâtées, of which there are batches enough ready', he hints at a project of his own in publishing 'something which will take, a sallad into which I will throw in a due proportion of salt, pepper and vinegar. One of my great objects will be to attack the old demon *Humbug* in his head-quarters ... I beg you not to let a word escape to any living wight about this project of mine ...'. Perhaps to such an end 'I have been here alone all the summer sweating at my desk to the great detriment of no inconsiderable number of goose-quills. I am told that those of the vulture are more economical ...'

Did anything come of Finch's literary ambitions, or a publication 'so popular that people *must* read'? If so, apparently not under his own signature.

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