if you please, write to us—­and write of yourself and in detail—­and tell us particularly, first if the winter has left no sign of a cough with you, and next, what you mean by something which suggests to my fancy that you have a book in the course of printing.  Is that true?  Tell me all about it—­all!  Who can be interested, pray, if I am not?  For your and Mr. Chorley’s and Mr. Forster’s kind dealings with Robert’s poems I thank you gratefully; and as a third volume can bring up the rear quickly in the case of success, I make no wailing for my ‘Luria,’ however dear it may be.[175]

[Illustration:  Casa Guidi From a Photograph]

You are not to fancy that I am unwell now.  On the contrary, I am nearly as strong as ever, and go out in the carriage for two hours every day, besides a little walk sometimes.  Not a word more to-day.  Write—­do—­and you shall hear from us at length.  Robert sends his own love, I suppose.  We both love you from our hearts.

Your ever affectionate and grateful
BA.
(who can’t read over, and writes in such a hurry!)

It was about this time, as appears from the following letter, that the Brownings finally anchored themselves in Florence by taking an unfurnished suite of rooms in the Palazzo Guidi, and making there a home for themselves, Here, in the Via Maggio, almost opposite the Pitti Palace, and within easy distance of the Ponte Vecchio, is the dwelling known to all lovers of English poetry as Casa Guidi, and bearing now upon its walls the name of the English poetess whose life and writings formed, in the graceful words of the Italian poet, ‘a golden ring between Italy and England.’  Whatever might be their migrations—­and they were many, especially in later years—­Casa Guidi was henceforth their home.[176]

[Footnote 175:  Apparently it had been proposed to omit Luria from the new edition; but, if so, the intention was not carried out.]

[Footnote 176:  It will interest many readers to know that Casa Guidi is now the property of Mr. R. Barrett Browning.]

To Miss Mitford May 28, 1848.

...  And now I must tell you what we have done since I wrote last, little thinking of doing so.  You see our problem was to get to England as much in our summers as possible, the expense of the intermediate journeys making it difficult of solution.  On examination of the whole case, it appeared manifest that we were throwing money into the like to hear you talk of poor France; how I hope that you are able to hope for her.  Oh, this absurdity of communism and mythological fete-ism! where can it end?  They had better have kept Louis Philippe after all, if they are no more practical.  Your Madame must be insufferable indeed, seeing that her knowledge of these subjects and men did not make her sufferable to you.  My curiosity never is exhausted.  What I hold is that the French have a higher ideal than we, and that all this clambering, leaping, struggling