od sandy
stretch for miles and miles on either side. I don't think we were ever
quite so thoroughly washed by the sea-air from all quarters as here--the
weather is fine, and we do well enough. The sadness of the war and its
consequences go far to paralyse all our pleasure, however. . . .

'Well, you are at Siena--one of the places I love best to remember. You
are returned--or I would ask you to tell me how the Villa Alberti wears,
and if the fig-tree behind the house is green and strong yet. I have
a pen-and-ink drawing of it, dated and signed the last day Ba was ever
there--"my fig tree--" she used to sit under it, reading and writing.
Nine years, or ten rather, since then! Poor old Landor's oak, too,
and his cottage, ought not to be forgotten. Exactly opposite this
house,--just over the way of the water,--shines every night the
light-house of Havre--a place I know well, and love very moderately:
but it always gives me a thrill as I see afar, _exactly_ a particular spot
which I was at along with her. At this moment, I see the white streak of
the phare in the sun, from the window where I write and I _think_. . . .
Milsand went to Paris last week, just before we arrived, to transport
his valuables to a safer place than his house, which is near the
fortifications. He is filled with as much despondency as can be--while
the old dear and perfect kindness remains. I never knew or shall know
his like among men. . . .'

The war did more than sadden Mr. and Miss Browning's visit to St.-Aubin;
it opposed unlooked-for difficulties to their return home. They had
remained, unconscious of the impending danger, till Sedan had been
taken, the Emperor's downfall proclaimed, and the country suddenly
placed in a state of siege. One morning M. Milsand came to them in
anxious haste, and insisted on their starting that very day. An order,
he said, had been issued that no native should leave the country, and
it only needed some unusually thick-headed Maire for Mr. Browning to be
arrested as a runaway Frenchman or a Prussian spy. The usual passenger
boats from Calais and Boulogne no longer ran; but there was, he
believed, a chance of their finding one at Havre. They acted on this
warning, and discovered its wisdom in the various hindrances which they
found on their way. Everywhere the horses had been requisitioned for the
war. The boat on which they had relied to take them down the river
to Caen had been stopped that very morning; and when