reasons I should care for her; also Hatty calls her divine. I thought
there was the least touch of affectation of fussiness, but it may not be
so. She knelt down before Hatty the other day and gave her--placed on
her finger--the most splendid ring you can imagine, a ruby in the form
of a heart, surrounded and crowned with diamonds. Hatty is frankly
delighted, and says so with all sorts of fantastical exaggerations.

Tell me what you think of the photographs which Robert sends, with his
best love. I think the head perfect, and the other very poetical and
picturesque. I wish I had mine to send Kate, tell her with my dear love,
but I have not one, nor can get one. Perhaps I may have to sit again
before leaving Rome, and then she shall be remembered. And Robert will
give her his.

Pray don't apologise for your Borden. He is very much to be liked. Mrs.
Bruen is charmed. He has been three times to talk with me, and Robert
has called on him twice. Robert is quite vexed at your 'pretension'
about having friends not good enough for his acquaintance. Yes, really
he was vexed. 'Isa _never_ understood him--not she!'

Is there not reason, we may murmur? But the truth is he is always ready
(be pleased to know) to honour your drafts in acquaintanceship, and
chooses to be considered ready.

[_The remainder of this letter is wanting_]

* * * * *

_To Miss E.F. Haworth_

Florence: June 16, 1860 [postmark].

My dearest Fanny,--I must use my opportunity of sending you these
photographs, because I think you will care to have them. Peni is
_himself_, not a likeness, but an identity. _I_, like a devil, or the
Emperor Napoleon, am not as black as I seem; but Pen looks lovely enough
to satisfy my vanity.

Your Indian poet's letter was despatched to you from Rome, and 'so
Apollo saved me.' Oh--if you knew how I hate giving opinions! I think a
poet's opinion of another poet should be paid by some triple fee. I, at
least, always feel that after being ingenuous on these occasions and
advising persons who can barely spell against publishing their epic
poems, one is supposed to be secretly influenced by the fear of a rival
or worse. Give me a triple fee.

Poor dearest Fanny, of course you are in the chain; being in England.
You are moved to set down the Emperor as 'the Beast' 666, of course. If
he crushes 'Garibaldi you must give him up.' Yes; but what an If. If you
stab Miss Heaton with a golden bodkin,