ave a cannon-ball in her stomach';
but she was unreasonably more afraid of one than of the other.)
Apartments here for which friends of ours paid forty pounds English the
month last winter are going for fifteen or under--or rather not
going--for nobody scarcely comes to take them. The Pope's 'reforms' seem
to be limited, in spite of his alarming position, which is breaking his
heart, he told a friend of Mrs. Stowe's the other day, and out of which
he looks to be relieved only by some special miracle (the American was
quite affected to hear the old man bewail himself!), to an edict against
crinolines, the same being forbidden to sweep the sacred pavement of St.
Peter's. This is _true_, though it sounds like a joke.

Even Florence has very few English. A crisis is looked for everywhere.
Prices there are rising fast; but one is prepared to pay more for
liberty. Carriages are dearer than in Paris by our new tariff, which is
an item important to me. We left Mr. Landor in great comfort. I went to
see his apartment before it was furnished. Rooms small, but with a look
out into a little garden; quiet and cheerful; and he doesn't mind a
situation rather out of the way. He pays four pound ten (English) the
month. Wilson has _thirty_ pounds a year for taking care of him, which
sounds a good deal; but it _is_ a difficult position. He has excellent,
generous, affectionate impulses, but the impulses of the tiger every now
and then. Nothing coheres in him, either in his opinions, or I fear,
affections. It isn't age; he is precisely the man of his youth, I must
believe. Still, his genius gives him the right of gratitude on all
artists at least, and I must say that my Robert has generously paid the
debt. Robert always said that he owed more as a writer to Landor than to
any contemporary. At present Landor is very fond of him; but I am quite
prepared for his turning against us as he has turned against Forster,
who has been so devoted for years and years. Only one isn't kind for
what one gets by it, or there wouldn't be much kindness in this world.

I keep well; and of course, at Rome there is more chance for me than
there was in Florence; but I hated to inflict an unpopular journey, of
which the advantage was solely mine. Poor Peni said that if he had to
leave his Florence he would rather go to Paris than to Rome. I dare say
he would. Then his Florentines frightened him with ideas of the awful
massacre we were to be subjected to here. Th