ought to the whole
physiognomy. This greyness was suddenly developed; let me tell you how.
He was in a state of bilious irritability on the morning of his arrival
in Rome from exposure to the sun or some such cause, and in a fit of
suicidal impatience shaved away his whole beard, whiskers and all! I
_cried_ when I saw him, I was so horror-struck. I might have gone into
hysterics and still been reasonable; for no human being was ever so
disfigured by so simple an act. Of course I said, when I recovered
breath and voice, that everything was at an end between him and me if he
didn't let it all grow again directly, and (upon the further advice of
his looking-glass) he yielded the point, and the beard grew. But it grew
_white_, which was the just punishment of the gods--our sins leave their
traces.

Well, poor darling, Robert won't shock you after all, you can't choose
but be satisfied with his looks. M. de Monclar swore to me that he was
not changed for the intermediate years.

Robert talks of money, of waiting for _that_, among other hindrances to
setting out directly. Not _my_ fault, be certain, Sarianna! We seem to
have a prospect of letting our house for a year, which, if the thing
happens, will give us a lift.

We spent yesterday evening with Lytton at his villa, meeting there Mr.
and Mrs. Walpole, Frederick Tennyson, and young Norton (Mrs. Norton's
son), who married the Capri girl. She was not present, I am sorry to
say. We walked home to the song of nightingales by starlight and
firefly-light. Florence looks to us more beautiful than ever after
Rome. I love the very stones of it, to say nothing of the cypresses and
river.

Robert says, 'Are you nearly done?' I am done. Give Penini's love and
mine to the dear nonno, and tell him (and yourself, dear) how delighted
we shall be [to] have you both. You are prepared to go to England, I
hope. By the way, the weather there is said to be murderous through
bitter winds, but it must soften as the season advances. May God bless
you! I am yours in truest love.

BA.

We had a very pleasant vettura journey, Robert will have told you.

* * * * *

_To Miss Mitford_

Florence: June 6, 1854.

Yes, dearest friend, I had your few lines which Arabel sent to me. I had
them on the very day I had posted my letter to you, and I need not say
how deeply it moved me that you should have thought of giving me that
pleasure of Mr. Ruskin's kind word at