ata_. Peni has had a bad cold, from over-staying the time on the
Pincio one afternoon, and I have kept him in the house these ten days.
Such things one may do by one's lion-cubs; but the lions are harder to
deal with, and Robert caught cold two or three days ago; in spite of
which he chose to get up at six every morning as usual and go out to
walk with Mr. Eckley. Only by miracle and nux is he much better to-day.
I thought he was going to have a furious grippe, as last year and the
year before. I must admit, however, that he is extremely well just now,
to speak generally, and that this habit of regular exercise (with
occasional homoeopathy) has thrown him into a striking course of
prosperity, as to looks, spirits and appetite. He eats 'vulpinely' he
says--which means that a lark or two is no longer enough for dinner. At
breakfast the loaf perishes by Gargantuan slices. He is plunged into
gaieties of all sorts, caught from one hand to another like a ball, has
gone out every night for a fortnight together, and sometimes two or
three times deep in a one night's engagements. So plenty of distraction,
and no Men and Women. Men and women from without instead! I am shut up
in the house of course, and go to bed when he goes out--and the worst
is, that there's a difficulty in getting books. Still, I get what I can,
and stop up the chinks with Swedenborg; and in health am very well, for
me, and in tranquillity excellently well. Not that there are not people
more than enough who come to see me, but that there is nothing vexatious
just now; life goes smoothly, I thank God, and I like Rome better than I
did last time. The season is healthy too (for Rome). I have only heard
of one English artist since we came, who arrived, sickened, died, and
was buried, before anyone knew who he was. Besides ordinary cases of
slight Roman fever among the English, Miss Sherwood (who with her father
was at Florence) has had it slightly, and Mrs. Marshall who came to us
from Tennyson. (A Miss Spring-Rice she was.) But the poor Hawthornes
suffer seriously. Una is dissolved to a shadow of herself by reiterated
attacks, and now Miss Shepherd is seized with gastric fever. Mr.
Hawthorne is longing to get away--where, he knows not.

My Peni has conquered his cold, and when the weather gets milder I shall
let him out. Meanwhile he has taken to--what do you suppose? I go into
his room at night and find him with a candle regularly settled on the
table by him, an