ear Nonno. I am glad, for my part, to be out of the last, which has
been gloomy and almost embittering to me personally; but we must throw
our burdens behind our backs as far as possible, and be cheerful for the
rest of the road. If Robert alone wrote about 'Aurora,' I won't leave it
to him to be alone grateful to dear M. Milsand for his extraordinary
kindness. Do tell him, with my love, that I could not have expected it,
even from himself--which is saying much. Most thankfully I leave
everything to his discretion and judgment. On this subject I have been,
from the beginning, divided between my strong desire of being translated
and my strong fear of being ill-translated. Harrison Ainsworth's novels
are quite one thing, and a poem of mine quite another. Oh yes! and yet,
so great is my faith in Milsand, that the touch of his hand and the
overseership of his eyes must tranquillise me. I am simply grateful.

Peni has been overwhelmed with gifts this year. I gave him on Christmas
Day (by his own secret inspiration) 'a sword with a blade to dazzle the
eyes'; Robert, a box of tools and carpenter's bench; and we united in a
'Robinson Crusoe,' who was well received. Then from others he had
sleeve-studs, a silver pencil-case, books, &c. According to his own
magniloquent phrase, he was '_exceptionally_ happy.' He has taken to
long words; I heard him talking of '_evidences_' the other day. Poor
little Pen! it's the more funny that he has by no means yet left off
certain of his babyisms of articulation, and the combined effects are
curious. You asked of Ferdinando.[52] Peni's attachment for Ferdinando
is undiminished. Ferdinando can't be found fault with, even in
gentleness, without a burst of tears on Peni's part. Lately I ventured
to ask not to be left quite alone in the house on certain occasions; and
though I spoke quite kindly, there was Peni in tears, assuring me that
we ought to have another servant to open the door, for that 'poor
Ferdinando had a great deal too much work'! When I ventured to demur to
that, the next charge was, 'plainly I did not love Ferdinando as much as
I loved Penini,' which I could not deny; and then with passionate sobs
Peni said that 'I was very unjust indeed.' 'Indeed, indeed, dear mama,
you _are_ unjust! Ferdinando does everything for you, and I do nothing,
except tease you, and even' (sobbing) 'I am sometimes a very naughty
boy.' I had to mop up his tears with my pocket-handkerchief, and excuse
myse