cannot even get to Lucca.  This is my bad news,—­O, and it is very bad that sweet Mrs. Kingsley must stay two years in Devonshire and cannot come home.  I expect to see him this week.  John Ruskin is with his father and mother in Switzerland, constantly sending me tokens of friendship.  Everybody writes or sends or comes; never was such kindness.  The Bennochs are in Scotland.  He sends me charming letters, having, I believe, at last discovered what every one else has known long.  Remember me to Mr. Ticknor.  Say everything to my Athenian friends all, especially to Dr. Holmes and Dr. Parsons.

    Ever, dear friend, your affectionate M.R.M.

    September 26, 1854.

My Very Dear Friend:  Your most kind and interesting letter has just arrived, with one from our good friend, Mr. Bennoch, announcing the receipt of the L50 bill for “Atherton.”  More welcome even as a sign of the prosperity of the book in a country where I have so many friends and which I have always loved so well, than as money, although in that way it is a far greater comfort than you probably guess, this very long and very severe illness obliging me to keep a third maid-servant.  I get no sleep,—­not on an average an hour a night,—­and require perpetual change of posture to prevent the skin giving way still more than it does, and forming what we emphatically call bed-sores, although I sit up night and day, and have no other relief than the being, to a slight extent, shifted from one position to another in the chair that I never quit.  Besides this, there are many other expenses.  I tell you this, dear friend, that Mr. Ticknor and yourself may have the satisfaction of knowing that, besides all that you have done for many years for my gratification, you have been of substantial use in this emergency.  In spite of all this illness, after being so entirely given over that dear Mr. Pearson, leaving me a month ago to travel with Arthur Stanley for a month, took a final leave of me, I have yet revived greatly during these last three weeks.  I owe this, under Providence, to my admirable friend, Mr. May, who, instead of abandoning the stranded ship, as is common in these cases, has continued, although six miles off, and driving four pair of horses a day, ay, and while himself hopeless of my case, to visit me constantly and to watch every symptom, and exhaust every resource of his great art, as if his own fame and fortune depended on the result.  One kind but too sanguine friend, Mr. Bennoch, is rather over-hopeful about this amendment, for I am still in a state in which the slightest falling back would carry me off, and in which I can hardly think it possible to weather the winter.  If that incredible contingency should arise, what a happiness it would be to see you in April!  But I must content myself with the charming little portrait you have sent me, which is your very self.  Thank you for it over and over.  Thank you, too, for the batch of notices on “Atherton."....