ony, which Robert is going to buy for him (though
Robert never spoils him; no, not he, it is only _I_ who do that!),
galloping through the lanes on this pony the colour of his curls. I was
looking over his journal (Pen keeps a journal), and fell on the
following memorial which I copy for you--I must.

'This is the happiest day of my hole (_sic_) life, for now dearest
Vittorio Emanuele is really _nostro re_.'

Pen's weak point does not lie in his politics, Mr. Chorley, but in his
spelling. When his contadini have done their day's work he takes it on
him to read aloud to them the poems of the revolutionary Venetian poet
Dall' Ongaro, to their great applause. Then I must tell you of his
music. He is strong in music for ten years old--and plays a sonata of
Beethoven already (in E flat--opera 7) and the first four books of
Stephen Heller; to say nothing of various pieces by modern German
composers in which there is need of considerable execution. Robert is
the maestro, and sits by him two hours every day, with an amount of
patience and persistence really extraordinary. Also for two months back,
since I have been thrown out of work, Robert has heard the child all his
other lessons. Isn't it very, very good of him?

Do write to us and tell me how your sister is, and also how you are in
spirits and towards the things of the world? Give her my love--will you?

I had a letter some time ago from poor Jessie Mario, from Bologna.
Respect her. She hindered her husband from fighting with Garibaldi for
his country, because Garibaldi fought under L.N., which was so highly
improper. Her letter was not unkind to me, but altogether and insanely
wrong as I considered. (Not more wrong though, and much less wicked,
than the 'Times.') I was too ill at the time to answer it, and
afterwards Robert would not let me, but I should have liked to do it;
it's such a comfort to a woman (and a man?) to _sfogarsi_, as we say
here. Also, I was really uneasy at what might be doing at Bologna; so,
in spite of friendship, it was a relief to me to hear of the police
taking charge of all overt possibilities in that direction.

Is it really true that 'Adam Bede' is the work of Miss Evans? The woman
(as I have heard of her) and the author (as I read her) do not hold
together. May God bless you, my dear friend! Robert shall say so for
himself.

Ever affectionately yours,
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

My dear Mr. Chorley,--Reading over what I have written I