ans say, that I may send this afflicted
soul her receipt, and bid her be at rest.

That they are still in Rome I know only by the address, which she does
put, though not the date; as a compensation for which, however, she
heads her letter with the sum she wishes me to pay, thus--

_Rome, Trinita dei Monti._
L8 13_s._

--a new way of dating a letter, it strikes me. She must have had poplin
on the brain.

I wrote to you yesterday, my dear, and therefore have little to say to
you. After all, _I_ had directed my poor maid perfectly _write_! (look
how I've spelt this, in the tumult of my feelings and confusion of my
thoughts!), and she arrived, but not till three o'clock in the
afternoon, paper in hand, with the direction I had myself written as
large as life--"The Great Western Hotel, Bristol." The fact is that I
had made so sure that she would be here before I was, that, not finding
her on my arrival, I made equally sure that I had misdirected her to
Bath, and despatched one of the hotel porters thither to hunt for her,
which he did, sans intermission, for two hours, and on his return had
the pleasure of finding her here. What a capital thing a clear head is,
to be sure! At least, I imagine so....

I have just come back from rehearsal at the theatre, where I found a
letter from Emily, containing a bad account of her mother, and a most
affectionate, cordial, illegible scrawl from poor dear old Mrs. Fitzhugh
herself.

I also received a letter from Henry Greville, full of strictures upon my
carriage and deportment on the stage, and earnestly entreating me to
suffer his _coiffeur_ ("a clean, tidy foreigner") to whitewash me after
the approved French method, _i.e._, to anoint my skin with cold cream,
and then cover it with pearl powder; and this, not only my face, but my
arms, neck, and shoulders. Don't you see me undergoing such a process,
and submitting to such "manipulation"?

I have read more than half through Liebig, and am always tempted to
glance at the paragraphs _ahead_ to see what wonders they contain. I
have not yet consulted the last chapter for the "winding-up of the
story." The marvels in the midst of which we exist are a "story without
an end."

I find some of his details of "quantity" a little puzzling sometimes,
but nothing else, and the book is delightful.

Charles Mason drank tea with me last night, and talked well, and with a
good deal of information, about chemistry. He has read somewhat, an