ery overcoming to _me_. I was not fit for
it, indeed, and Robert was averse on his own account....

May God bless you both, dearest friends. My little Penini is bright and
well. I have begun to teach him German. I do hope you won't fatigue
yourselves too much at Colwall. Enjoy the summer and the roses, and be
well, be well. We shall meet next year....

Once more, goodbye.

Your ever affectionate and grateful
BA.

Robert's love as ever.

This is the first letter I have written to anyone out of my own family.
I hate writing, and can't help being stupid.

* * * * *

_To Miss E.F. Haworth_

Florence: [about July 1857].

I write soon, you see, dearest Fanny. I thank you for all, but I do
beseech you, _dear_, not to say a word more to me of what is said of me.
The truth is, I am made of paper, and it tears me. Do not, dear. Make no
reference to things personal to myself. As far as I could read and
understand, it was absurd, perfectly _ungenuine_. I shall say nothing to
anybody. I have torn that sheet. Do not refer to the subject to Isa
Blagden. And there--I have done.

No--I thank you; and I know it was your kindness entirely. Will you, if
you love me, _not_ touch on the subject (I mean on the personal thing to
myself) in your next letters, not even by saying that you were sorry you
did once touch on them. I know how foolish and morbid I must seem to
you. So I am made, and I can't help my idiosyncrasies.

Now don't mistake me. Tell me all about the spirits, only not about what
they say of _me_. I am very interested. The drawback is, that without
any sort of doubt they _personate falsely_.

We are seething in the heat. The last three days have been a composition
of Gehenna and Paradise. It is a perpetual steam bath. Yet Robert and I
have not finished our plans for escaping. Mrs. Jameson is here still,
recovering her health and spirits. The Villa hospitality goes on as
usual, and the evening before last we had tea on the terrace by a divine
sunset, with a favoring breath or two. Only even there we wished for
Lazarus's finger.

Certainly Florence will not be bearable many days longer. Write to me
though, at Florence as usual....

It is said that Hume, who is back again in Paris and under the shadow of
the Emperor's wing, has been the means of an extraordinary
manifestation, two spiritual figures, male and female, who were
_recognised_ by their friends. Five or six persons (incl