n the stage from
the papers. So far, so well. You may remember, or may not have heard,
how Macready brought it out and put his foot on it in the flash of
a quarrel between manager and author, and Phelps, knowing the whole
secret and feeling the power of the play, determined on making a
revival of it on his own theatre, which was wise, as the event proves.
Mr. Chorley called his acting really 'fine.' I see the second edition
of the 'Poetical Works' advertised at last in the 'Athenaeum,' and
conclude it to be coming out directly. Also my second edition is
called for, only nothing is yet arranged on that point. We have had a
most interesting letter from Mr. Home, giving terrible accounts, to be
sure, of the submersion of all literature in England and France since
the French Revolution, but noble and instructive proof of individual
wave-riding energy, such as I have always admired in him. He and his
wife, he says, live chiefly on the produce of their garden, and keep
a cheerful heart for the rest; even the 'Institutes' expect gratuitous
lectures, so that the sweat of the brain seems less productive than
the sweat of the brow. I am glad that Mr. Serjeant Talfourd and his
wife spoke affectionately of my husband, for he is attached to both
of them.... My Flush has grown to be passionately fond of grapes,
devouring bunch after bunch, and looking so fat and well that we
attribute some virtue to them. When he goes to England he will be as
much in a strait as an Italian who related to us his adventures in
London; he had had a long walk in the heat, and catching sight of
grapes hanging up in a grocer's shop, he stopped short to have a
pennyworth, as he said inwardly to himself. Down he sat and made out
a Tuscan luncheon in purple bunches. At last, taking out his purse to
look for the halfpence: 'Fifteen shillings, sir, if you please,' said
the shopman. Now do write soon, and speak particularly of your health,
and take care of it and don't be too complaisant to visitors. May God
bless you, my very dear friend! Think of me as

Ever your affectionate and grateful
E.B.B.
_My husband's regards always._

[Footnote 185: Count Pellegrino Rossi, chief minister to the Pope, was
assassinated in Rome, at the entrance of the Chamber of Deputies,
on November 15, 1848. Ten days later the Pope fled to Gaeta, and his
experiments in 'reform' came to a final end.]

[Footnote 186: The Pope, having declared war against Austria before
his flight, h