I am sure you would like the transition from the cliffs, from the bird’s eye view to, I was going to say, the mole’s eye view, but I believe moles don’t see quite clearly enough to suit my purpose.  There are a great number of people here.  Sam was at an evening party a week ago where there were a hundred and twenty people; but they don’t walk about the parade and show themselves as one might expect. We know only the Herrings and Mrs. and the Miss Polands and Sir John Kean.  Mrs. and Miss Weekes, and Mr. and Mrs. James have called upon us, but we were out when they came.  I suppose it will be necessary to return their visits and to know them; and when we do, you shall hear about them, and about everybody whom we know.  I am certainly much better in health, stronger than I was, and less troubled with the cough.  Every day I attend [word torn out] their walks on my donkey, if we do not go in a boat, which is still pleasanter.  I believe Henrietta walks out about three times a day.  She is looking particularly well, and often talks, and I am sure still oftener thinks, of you.  You know how fond of you she is.  Papa walks out with her—­and us; and we all, down to

Occyta, breakfast and drink tea together.  The dining takes place at five o’clock.  To-morrow, if this lovely weather will stand still and be accommodating, we talk of rowing to Dawlish, which is about ten miles off.  We have had a few cases of cholera, at least suspicious cases:  one a fortnight before we arrived, and five since, in the course of a month.  All dead except one.  I confess a little nervousness; but it is wearing away.  The disease does not seem to make any progress; and for the last six days there have been no patients at all.

Do let us hear very soon, my dear Mrs. Martin, how you are—­how your spirits are, and whether Rome is still in your distance.  Surely no plan could be more delightful for you than this plan; and if you don’t stay very long away, I shall be sorry to hear of your abandoning it.  Do you recollect your promise of coming to see us? We do.

You must have had quite enough now of my ‘little hand’ and of my details.  Do not go to Matton or to the Bartons or to Eastnor without giving my love.  How often my thoughts are at home!  I cannot help calling it so still in my thoughts.  I may like other places, but no other place can ever appear to me to deserve that name.

Dearest Mrs. Martin’s affectionate
E.B.  BARRETT.

To Mrs. Martin Sidmouth:  December 14, 1832.

My dearest Mrs. Martin,—­I hope you are very angry indeed with us for not writing.  We are as penitent as we ought to be—­that is, I am, for I believe I am the idle person; yet not altogether idle, but procrastinating and waiting for news rather more worthy of being read in Rome than any which even now I can send you....  And now, my dear Mrs. Martin, I mean to thank you, as I ought