“I have very vague notions upon the subject as yet, but the general impression I have formed is that, putting ourselves on one side, the most vigorous and amiable of known nations are the modern Italians, the old Greeks and Romans, and the South Sea Islanders.  I believe that these nice peoples have not as a general rule been purists, but I want to see those of them who can yet be seen; they are the practical authorities on the question—­What is best for man? and I should like to see them and find out what they do.  Let us settle the fact first and fight about the moral tendencies afterwards.”

“In fact,” said I laughingly, “you mean to have high old times.”

“Neither higher nor lower,” was the answer, “than those people whom I can find to have been the best in all ages.  But let us change the subject.”  He put his hand into his pocket and brought out a letter.  “My father,” he said, “gave me this letter this morning with the seal already broken.”  He passed it over to me, and I found it to be the one which Christina had written before the birth of her last child, and which I have given in an earlier chapter.

“And you do not find this letter,” said I, “affect the conclusion which you have just told me you have come to concerning your present plans?”

He smiled, and answered:  “No.  But if you do what you have sometimes talked about and turn the adventures of my unworthy self into a novel, mind you print this letter.”

“Why so?” said I, feeling as though such a letter as this should have been held sacred from the public gaze.

“Because my mother would have wished it published; if she had known you were writing about me and had this letter in your possession, she would above all things have desired that you should publish it.  Therefore publish it if you write at all.”

This is why I have done so.

Within a month Ernest carried his intention into effect, and having made all the arrangements necessary for his children’s welfare left England before Christmas.

I heard from him now and again and learnt that he was visiting almost all parts of the world, but only staying in those places where he found the inhabitants unusually good-looking and agreeable.  He said he had filled an immense quantity of note-books, and I have no doubt he had.  At last in the spring of 1867 he returned, his luggage stained with the variation of each hotel advertisement ’twixt here and Japan.  He looked very brown and strong, and so well favoured that it almost seemed as if he must have caught some good looks from the people among whom he had been living.  He came back to his old rooms in the Temple, and settled down as easily as if he had never been away a day.