with the Prince of Wales? Col. Bruce
called here and told me that though the budding royalty was not to be
exposed to the influences of mixed society, the society of the most
eminent men in Rome was desired for him, and he (Col. Bruce) knew it
would 'gratify the Queen that the Prince should make the acquaintance of
Mr. Browning.' Afterwards came the invitation, or 'command.' I told
Robert to set them all right on Italian affairs, and to eschew
compliments, which, you know, is his weak point. (He said the other day
to Mrs. Story: 'I had a delightful evening yesterday at your house. I
_never spoke to you once_,' and encouraged an artist, who was 'quite
dissatisfied with his works,' as he said humbly, by an
encouraging--'But, my dear fellow, if you were satisfied, you would be
so _very easily_ satisfied!' Happy! wasn't it?) Well, so I exhorted my
Robert to eschew compliments and keep to Italian politics, and we both
laughed, as at a jest. But really he had an opportunity, the subject was
permitted, admitted, encouraged, and Robert swears that he talked on it
higher than his breath. But, oh, the English, the English! I am
unpatriotic and disloyal to a _crime_, Isa, just now. Besides which, as
a matter of principle, I never put my trust in princes, except in the
parvenus.

Not that the little prince here talked politics. But some of his suite
did, and he listened. He is a gentle, refined boy, Robert says....

May God bless you, dearest Isa. I am, your very loving

BA.

* * * * *

_To Miss Browning_

Rome: [about April 1859].

Dearest Sarianna,--People are distracting the 'Athenaeums,' Robert
complains, as they distract other things, but in time you will recover
them, I hope. Mr. Leighton has made a beautiful pencil-drawing, highly
finished to the last degree, of him;[64] very like, though not on the
poetical side, which is beyond Leighton. Of this you shall have a
photograph soon; and in behalf of it, I pardon a drawing of me which I
should otherwise rather complain of, I confess.

We are all much saddened just now (in spite of war) by the state of Una
Hawthorne, a lovely girl of fifteen, Mr. Hawthorne's daughter, who,
after a succession of attacks of Roman fever, has had another,
complicated with gastric, which has fallen on the lungs, and she only
lives from hour to hour. Homoeopathic treatment persisted in, which
never answers in these fevers. Ah--there has been much illness in