deeds, which are thrown into the cabinet for want of witnesses.  And then Robert has had a letter from Mr. Forster with the date of Shakespeare’s birthday, and overflowing with kindness really both to himself and me.  It quite touched me, that letter.  Also we have had a visitation from an American, but on the point of leaving Florence and very tame and inoffensive, and we bore it very well considering.  He sent us a new literary periodical of the old world, in which, among other interesting matter, I had the pleasure of reading an account of my own ‘blindness,’ taken from a French paper (the ’Presse’), and mentioned with humane regret.  Well! and what more news is there to tell you?  I have been out once, only once, and only for an inglorious glorious drive round the Piazza Gran Duca, past the Duomo, outside the walls, and in again at the Cascine.  It was like the trail of a vision in the evening sun.  I saw the Perseus in a sort of flash.  The Duomo is more after the likeness of a Duomo than Pisa can show; I like those masses in ecclesiastical architecture.  Now we are plotting how to, engage a carriage for a month’s service without ruining ourselves, for we must see, and I can’t walk and see, though much stronger than when we parted, and looking much better, as Robert and the looking glass both do testify.  I have seemed at last ‘to leap to a conclusion’ of convalescence.  But the heat—­oh, so hot it is.  If it is half as hot with you, you must be calling on the name of St. Lawrence by this time, and require no ‘turning.’  I should not like to travel under such a sun.  It would be too like playing at snapdragon.  Yes, ’brightly happy.’  Women generally lose by marriage, but I have gained the world by mine.  If it were not for some griefs, which are and must be griefs, I should be too happy perhaps, which is good for nobody.  May God bless you, my dear, dearest friend!  Robert must be content with sending his love to-day, and shall write another day.  We both love you every day.  My love and a kiss to dearest Gerardine, who is to remember to write to me.

Your ever affectionate
BA.

To H.S.  Boyd Florence:  May 26, 1847.

I should have answered your letter, my dearest friend, more quickly, but when it came I was ill, as you may have heard, and afterwards I wished to wait until I could send you information about the Leaning Tower and the bells[159].  The book you required, about the cathedral, Robert has tried in vain to procure for you.  Plenty of such books, but not in English.  In London such things are to be found, I should think, without difficulty, for instance, ’Murray’s Handbook to Northern Italy,’ though rather dear (12_s._), would give you sufficiently full information upon the ecclesiastical glories both of Pisa and of this beautiful Florence, from whence I write to you....  I will answer for the harmony of the bells, as we lived within a stone’s throw of them, and they began at four o’clock every