ere, in spite of the
bread. We should have been only a little thinner at the end. And
the scenery--oh, how magnificent! How we enjoyed that great, silent,
ink-black pine wood! And do you remember the sea of mountains to the
left? How grand it is! We were up at three in the morning again to
return to Florence, and the glory of that morning sun breaking the
clouds to pieces among the hills is something ineffaceable from my
remembrance. We came back ignominiously to our old rooms, but found it
impossible to stay on account of the suffocating heat, yet we scarcely
could go far from Florence, because of Mr. Kenyon and our hope of
seeing him here (since lost). A perplexity ended by Robert's discovery
of our present apartments, on the Pitti side of the river (indeed,
close to the Grand Duke's palace), consisting of a suite of spacious
and delightful rooms, which come within our means only from the
deadness of the summer season, comparatively quite cool, and with
a terrace which I enjoy to the uttermost through being able to walk
there without a bonnet, by just stepping out of the window. The church
of San Felice is opposite, so we haven't a neighbour to look through
the sunlight or moonlight and take observations. Isn't that pleasant
altogether? We ordered back the piano and the book subscription, and
settled for two months, and forgave the Vallombrosa monks for the
wrong they did us, like secular Christians. What is to come after, I
can't tell you. But probably we shall creep slowly along toward Rome,
and spend some hot time of it at Perugia, which is said to be cool
enough. I think more of other things, wishing that my dearest, kindest
sisters had a present as bright as mine--to think nothing at all of
the future. Dearest Henrietta's position has long made me uneasy, and,
since she frees me into confidence by her confidence to you, I will
tell you so. Most undesirable it is that this should be continued, and
yet where is there a door open to escape?[162] ... My dear brothers
have the illusion that nobody should marry on less than two thousand a
year. Good heavens! how preposterous it does seem to me! _We_ scarcely
spend three hundred, and I have every luxury, I ever had, and which
it would be so easy to give up, at need; and Robert wouldn't sleep,
I think, if an unpaid bill dragged itself by any chance into another
week. He says that when people get into 'pecuniary difficulties,' his
'sympathies always go with the butchers an