precious colors and of gold, high under the vaulted roof at
the end behind the altar; and line upon line of pillars of massive
porphyry and marble, gathered out of the ruins of the temples of the
great race who had persecuted them, till they had said to the hills,
Cover us, like the wicked. And then _their_ proud time came, and their
enthronement on the seven hills; and now, what is to be their fate
once more?--of pope and cardinal and dome, Peter's or Paul's by name
only,--"My house, no more a house of prayer, but a den of thieves."

I can't write any more this morning. Oh me, if one could only write
and draw all one wanted, and have our Susies and be young again,
oneself and they! (As if there were two Susies, or _could_ be!)

Ever my one Susie's very loving
J. RUSKIN.

* * * * *

REGRETS.

ASSISI, _June 9th_ (1874).

Yes, I am a little oppressed just now with overwork, nor is this
avoidable. I am obliged to leave all my drawings unfinished as the
last days come, and the point possible of approximate completion
fatally contracts, every hour to a more ludicrous and warped mockery
of the hope in which one began. It is impossible not to work against
time, and _that_ is killing. It is not labor itself, but competitive,
anxious, disappointed labor that dries one's soul out.

But don't be frightened about me, you sweet Susie. I know when I
_must_ stop; forgive and pity me only, because sometimes, nay often my
letter (or word) to Susie must be sacrificed to the last effort on
one's drawing.

The letter to one's Susie should be a rest, do you think? It is always
more or less comforting, but not rest; it means further employment of
the already extremely strained sensational power. What one really
wants! I believe the only true restorative is the natural one, the
actual presence of one's "helpmeet." The far worse than absence of
mine _reverses_ rest, and what is more, destroys one's power of
receiving from others or giving.

How much love of mine have _others_ lost, because that poor sick child
would not have the part of love that belonged to her!

I am very anxious about your eyes too. For any favor don't write more
extracts just now. The books are yours forever and a day--no loan;
enjoy any bits that you find enjoyable, but don't copy just now.

I left Rome yesterday, and am on my way home; bu