gements, the worst of which have been forced on me _maritally_
rather than artistically by the portrait-sittings he of course has told
you of. His own portrait, by Mr. Reade, I must be glad about, seeing
that though it by no means gives his best expression, the face is
_there_, and it will be the best work extant on the same subject. I only
wish that the artist had been satisfied with it, or taken my Penini in
the second place instead of me, who am not wanted in canvas for art's
sake, or for any other sake in the world. When gone from hence, may
nobody think of me again, except when one or two may think perhaps how I
loved them....

Do you think much of the war? I hope all will be done on the part of the
two western Powers honestly and directly; and then, may the best that
can, come out of the worst that must be. The poor Italians catch like
men in an agony at all these floating straws. We hear that the new
Austrian Commandant has received instructions to hold no intercourse
with members of the English and French Legations till further orders are
received.

We have lived a disturbed life lately; too much coming and going even
with agreeable people. There has been no time for work. In Rome it must
be different, or we shall get on poorly with our books, I think. Robert
seems, however, by his account, to be in an advanced state already....

[_Incomplete._]

* * * * *

_To Miss I. Blagden_

Casa Guidi: Saturday [about October, 1853].

My dearest Isa,-- ... I was very sorry on returning from Lucca to find
only Mr. Thompson's note and yours; but though we missed him at Florence
we shall see him at Rome, I hope. There was also a card from Miss
Lynch,[28] an American poetess (one of the ninety-and-nine muses), with
a note of introduction from England. Do you hear of her at Rome? The
'Ninth Street' printed on her card leaves me in the infinite as far as
conjectures of where she is go.

So pleased I am to get back to Florence, and so little inclined to
tumble out of my nest again; yet we _shall go to Rome_ if some new
obstacle does not arise. We have had no glimpse of the Tassinaris; they
seem to have vanished from the scene. Florence is full of great people,
so called, from England, and the _real sommites_ are coming, such as
Alfred Tennyson, and, with an interval, Dickens and Thackeray. The two
latter go to Rome for the winter, I understand.

Do you say _Edward Lytton_? But he isn't E