d that golden-hearted Robert is in ecstasies about
it--far more than if it all related to a book of his own. The form of
the story, and also something in the philosophy, seem to have caught the
crowd. As to the poetry by itself, anything good in _that_ repels
rather. I am not as blind as Romney, not to perceive this. He had to be
blinded, observe, to be made to see; just as Marian had to be dragged
through the uttermost debasement of circumstances to arrive at the
sentiment of personal dignity. I am sorry, but indeed it seemed
necessary.

You tantalise me with your account of 'warm days.' It is warmer with us
to-day, but we have had snow on all the mountains, and poor Isa has been
half-frozen at her villa. As for me, I have suffered wonderfully
little--no more than discomfort and languor. We have piled up the wood
in this room and the next, and had a perpetual blaze. Not for ten years
has there been in Florence such a November! 'Is this Italy?' says poor
Fanny Haworth's wondering face. Still, she likes Florence better than
she did....

Is it not strange that dear Mr. Kenyon should have lost his brother by
this sudden stroke? Strange and sad?... He was suffering too under a
relapse when the news came--which, Miss Bayley says, did not dangerously
affect him, after all. Oh, sad and strange! I pity the unfortunate wife
more than anyone. She said to me this summer, 'I could not live without
him. Let us hope in God that he and I may die at the same moment.'...

There's much good in dear M. Milsand's idea for us about Paris and the
South of France. Still, I'm rather glad to be quite outside the world
for a little, during these first steps of 'Aurora.' Best love to the
dear Nonno. May God bless you both!

Your ever affectionate
BA.

Oh, the spirits! Hate of Hume and belief in the facts are universal
here.

* * * * *

_To Miss I. Blagden_

[About December 1856.]

My dearest Isa,--Just before your note came I had the pleasure of
burning my own to you yesterday, which was not called for, as I
expected. You would have seen from _that_, that Robert was going to you
of his own accord and mine....

I am rather glad you have not seen the 'Athenaeum'; the analysis it gives
of my poem is so very unfair and partial. You would say the conception
was really _null_. It does not console me at all that I should be
praised and over-praised, the idea given of the poem remaining so
absolutely futile