help to me,
provided it is kept within somewhat narrow limits. As soon as it is
done I mean to have it published in a strong and pretty but _cheap_
form, and it must not be too bulky. Consider, therefore, not only what
you like, but how far and with whom each bit is likely to find consent
and service. You will have to choose perhaps, after a little while,
among what you have already chosen. I mean to leave it _wholly_ in
your hands; it is to be Susie's choice of my writings.

Don't get into a flurry of responsibility, but don't at once write
down all you have a mind to; I know you'll find a good deal! for you
are exactly in sympathy with me in all things.

[Footnote 10: "Frondes Agrestes."]

* * * * *

ASSISI, _9th July, 1874_.

Your lovely letters are always a comfort to me; and not least when you
tell me you are sad. You would be far less in sympathy with me if you
were not, and in the "everything right" humor of some, even of some
really good and kind persons, whose own matters are to their mind, and
who understand by "Providence" the power which particularly takes care
of _them_. This favoritism which goes so sweetly and pleasantly down
with so many pious people is the chief of all stumbling-blocks to
_me_. I must pray for everybody or nobody, and can't get into any
conceptions of relation between Heaven and _me_, if not also between
Heaven and earth, (and why Heaven should allow hairs in pens I can't
think).

I take great care of myself, be quite sure of that, Susie; the worst
of it is, here in Assisi everybody else wants me to take care of them.

Catharine brought me up as a great treat yesterday at dinner, ham
dressed with as much garlic as could be stewed into it, and a plate of
raw figs, telling me I was to eat them together!

The sun is changing the entire mountains of Assisi into a hot bottle
with no flannel round it; but I can't get a ripe plum, peach, or
cherry. All the milk turns sour, and one has to eat one's meat at its
toughest or the thunder gets into it next day.

* * * * *

FOAM OF TIBER.

PERUGIA, _17th July_ (1874).

I am made anxious by your sweet letter of the 6th saying you have been
ill and are "not much better."

The letter is all like yours, but I suppose however ill you were you
would always write prettily, so that's little comfort.

About the Narci