gan by finding
him much better than we expected, but gradually the sad truth deepens
that he is very ill--oh, it deepens and saddens at once. The face lights
up with the warm, generous heart; then the fire drops, and you see the
embers. The breath is very difficult--it is hard to live. He leans on
the table, saying softly and pathetically 'My God! my God!' Now and then
he desires aloud to pass away and be at rest. I cannot tell you what
his kindness is--his consideration is too affecting; kinder he is than
ever. Miss Bayley is an excellent nurse--at once gentle and
decided--and, if she did but look further than this life and this death,
she would be a perfect companion for him. Peni creeps about like a
mouse; but he goes out, and he isn't over-tired, as he was at Ventnor.
We think he is altogether better in looks and ways.

Your affectionate
BA.

* * * * *

A short visit to Taunton seems to have been made about the end of
September, as anticipated in the last letter, and then, at some time in
the course of October, they set out for Florence. But Mrs. Browning, in
thus quitting England for the last time, left behind her as a legacy the
completed volume of 'Aurora Leigh.' This poem was the realisation of her
early scheme, which goes back at least to the year 1844, of writing a
novel in verse--a novel modern in setting and ideas, and embodying her
own ideals of social and moral progress. And to a large extent she
succeeded. As a vehicle of her opinions, the scheme and style of the
poem proved completely adequate. She moves easily through the story; she
handles her metre with freedom and command; she can say her say without
exaggeration or unnatural strain. Further, the opinions themselves, as
those who have learnt to know her through her letters will feel sure,
are lofty and honourable, and full of a genuine enthusiasm for humanity.
As a novel, 'Aurora Leigh' may be open to the criticism that most of the
characters fail to impress us with a sense of reality and vitality, and
that the hero hardly wins the sympathy from the reader which he is meant
to win. But as a poem it is unquestionably a very remarkable work--not
so full of permanent poetic spirit as the 'Sonnets from the Portuguese,'
not so readily popular as 'The Cry of the Children' or 'Cowper's
Grave'--but a highly characteristic work of one whose character was
made up of pure thoughts and noble ideals, which, in spite of the
ine