tone
of mind and education, and the really wretched writing. It's quite
wonderful that a woman who has written a book to make the world ring
should write so abominably....

Do you hear often from Mr. Chorley? Mr. Kenyon complains of never seeing
him. He seems to have withdrawn a good deal, perhaps into closer
occupations, who knows? Aubrey de Vere told a friend of ours in Paris
the other day that Mr. Patmore was engaged on a poem which 'was to be
the love poem of the age,' parts of which he, Aubrey de Vere, had seen.
Last week I was vexed by the sight of Mrs. Trollope's card, brought in
because we were at dinner. I should have liked to have seen her for the
sake of the opportunity of talking of _you_.

Do you know the engravings in the 'Story without an End'? The picture of
the 'child' is just my Penini. Some one was observing it the other day,
and I thought I would tell you, that you might image him to yourself.
Think of his sobbing and screaming lately because of the Evangelist John
being sent to Patmos. 'Just like poor Robinson Crusoe' said he. I
scarcely knew whether to laugh or cry, I was so astonished at this
crisis of emotion.

Robert's love will be put in. May God bless you and keep you, and love
you better than we all.

Your ever affectionate
BA.

* * * * *

_To Mrs. Martin_

Casa Guidi: February 13, [1855].

My dearest Mrs. Martin,--How am I to thank you for this most beautiful
shawl, looking fresh from Galatea's flocks, and woven by something finer
than her fingers? You are too good and kind, and I shall wrap myself in
this piece of affectionateness on your part with very pleasant feelings.
Thank you, thank you. I only wish I could have seen you (though more or
less dimly, it would have been a satisfaction) in the face of your
friend who was so kind as to bring the parcel to me. But I have been
very unwell, and was actually in bed when he called; unwell with the
worst attack on the chest I ever suffered from in Italy. Oh, I should
have written to you long since if it had not been for this. For a month
past or more I have been ill. Now, indeed, I consider myself
convalescent; the exhausting cough and night fever are gone, I may say,
the pulse quiet, and, though considerably weakened and pulled down, that
will be gradually remedied as long as this genial mildness of the
weather lasts. You were quite right in supposing us struck here by the
cold of which you complain