be spoken.  But I tell you a little, because I owe the telling to you, and also that you may set down in your philosophy the possibility of book-making creatures living happily together.  I admit, though, to begin (or end), that my husband is an exceptional human being, and that it wouldn’t be just to measure another by him.  We are planning a great deal of enjoyment in this ‘going to the fair’ at Sinigaglia, meaning to go by Arezzo and San Sepolchro, and Urbino, to Fano, where we shall pitch our tent for the benefit, as Robert says, of the sea air and the oysters.  Fano is very habitable, and we may get to Pesaro and the footsteps of Castiglione’s ‘courtier,’ to say nothing of Bernardo Tasso; and Ancona beckons from the other side of Sinigaglia, and Loreto beside, only we shall have to restrain our flights a little.  The passage of the Apennine is said to be magnificent, and, altogether, surely it must be delightful; and we take only two carpet bags—­not to be weighed down by ‘impedimenta,’ and have our own home, left in charge of the porter, to return to at last, I am very well and shall be better for the change, though Robert is dreadfully afraid, as usual, that I shall fall to pieces at the first motion....

May God bless you! 
Ever I am your affectionate
BA.

Write to Florence as usual—­Poste Restante.  You will hear how we are in great hopes of dear Mr. Kenyon.

Dear Aunt Nina,—­Only a word in all the hurry of setting off.  We love you as you love us, and are pretty nearly as happy as you would have us.  All love and prosperity to dear Geddie, too; what do you say of ‘Landor,’ and my not sending it to Forster or somebody? Che che (as the Tuscans exclaim), who was it promised to call at my people’s, who would have tendered it forthwith?  I will see about it as it is.  Goodbye, dearest aunt, and let no revolution disturb your good will to Ba and

R.B.

To Miss Mitford Florence:  August 24, 1848.

Ever dearest Miss Mitford,—­It’s great comfort to have your letter; for as it came more lingeringly than usual, I had time to be a little anxious, and even my husband has confessed since that he thought what he would not say aloud for fear of paining me, as to the probability of your being less well than usual.  Your letters come so regularly to the hour, you see, that when it strikes without them, we ask why.  Thank God, you are better after all, and reviving in spirits, as I saw at the first glance before the words said it clearly....

As for ourselves, we have scarcely done so well, yet well; having enjoyed a great deal in spite of drawbacks.  Murray, the traitor, sent us to Fano as a ‘delightful summer residence for an English family,’ and we found it uninhabitable from the heat, vegetation scorched with paleness, the very air swooning in the sun, and the gloomy looks of the inhabitants sufficiently corroborative of their words, that no drop of rain