solitude, 'very _triste_,' say the English, not
even an English church, even in the city of Siena. We get books from
Florence, and newspapers from everywhere, or one couldn't get on quite
well. As it is I like it very much. I like the quiet! the lying at
length on a sofa, in an absolute silence, nobody speaking for hours
together (Robert rides a great deal), not a chance of morning visitors,
no voices under the windows. The repose would help me much, if it were
not that circumstances of pain and fear walk in upon me through windows
and doors, using one's own thoughts, till they tremble. Pen has had an
abbe to teach him Latin, and his pony to ride on, and he and Robert are
very well and strong, thank God.

Thank you for your words on spiritualism. I have not _yet_ seen the last
'Cornhill.' It pleases me that Thackeray has had the courage to maintain
the facts before the public; I think _much the better of him_ for doing
so. Owen's book I shall try to get. There is a weak reference to the
subject in the 'Saturday Review' (against it), and I see an article
advertised in 'Once a Week,' all proving that the public is awaking to a
consideration of the class of phenomena. _Investigation_ is all I
desire. The 'Spiritual Magazine' lingers so this month that I fear, and
Robert hopes, something may have happened to it.

* * * * *

On returning to Rome for the winter, which they did about September, the
Brownings found quarters at 126 Via Felice. The following letter was
written shortly after the death of Mrs. Browning's sister.

* * * * *

_To Miss E.F. Haworth_

[Rome: autumn 1860.]

In one word, my dearest Fanny, I will thank you for what is said and not
said, for sympathy true and tender each way. It is a great privilege to
be able to talk and cry; but _I cannot_, you know. I have suffered very
much, and feel tired and beaten. Now, it's all being lived down; thrown
behind or pushed before, as such things must be if we _are_ to live: not
forgetting, not feeling any tie slackened, loving unchangeably, and
believing how mere a _line_ this is to overstep between the living and
the dead.

Do you know, the first thing from without which did me the least good
was a letter from America, from dear Mrs. Stowe. Since we parted here in
the spring, neither of us had written, and she had not the least idea of
my being unhappy for any reason. In fact, her thought was t