and dishonouring to humanity of all creeds.  I would rather (for me) live under the absolutism of Nicholas of Russia than in a Fourier machine, with my individuality sucked out of me by a social air-pump.  Oh, if you happen to write again to Mrs. Deane, thank her much for her kind anxiety; but, indeed, if I had lost my darling I should not write verses about it.[202] As for the Laureateship, it won’t be given to me, be sure, though the suggestion has gone the round of the English newspapers—­’Galignani’ and all—­and notwithstanding that most kind and flattering recommendation of the ‘Athenaeum,’ for which I am sure we should be grateful to Mr. Chorley.  I think Leigh Hunt should have the Laureateship.  He has condescended to wish for it, and has ’worn his singing clothes’ longer than most of his contemporaries, deserving the price of long as well as noble service.  Whoever has it will be, of course, exempted from Court lays; and the distinction of the title and pension should remain for Spenser’s sake, if not for Wordsworth’s.  We are very anxious to know about Tennyson’s new work, ‘In Memoriam.’  Do tell us about it.  You are aware that it was written years ago, and relates to a son of Mr. Hallam, who was Tennyson’s intimate friend and the betrothed of his sister.  I have heard, through someone who had seen the MS., that it is full of beauty and pathos....  Dearest, ever dear Miss Mitford, speak particularly of your health.  May God bless you, prays

Your ever affectionate
E.B.B. 
Robert’s kindest regards.

[Footnote 202:  Referring to the lines entitled A Child’s Grave at Florence, which had apparently been misunderstood as implying the death of Mrs. Browning’s own child.]

To Miss Mitford Florence:  July 8, 1850.

My dearest Miss Mitford,—­I this moment have your note; and as a packet of ours is going to England, I snatch up a pen to do what I can with it in the brief moments between this and post time.  I don’t wait till it shall be possible to write at length, because I have something immediate to say to you.  Your letter is delightful, yet it is not for that that I rush so upon answering it.  Nor even is it for the excellent news of your consenting, for dear Mr. Chorley’s sake, to give us some more of your ’papers,’[203] though ’blessed be the hour, and month, and year’ when he set about editing the ‘Ladies’ Companion’ and persuading you to do such a thing.  No, what I want to say is strictly personal to me.  You are the kindest, warmest-hearted, most affectionate of critics, and precisely as such it is that you have thrown me into a paroxysm of terror.  My dearest friend, for the love of me—­I don’t argue the point with you—­but I beseech you humbly,—­kissing the hem of your garment, and by all sacred and tender recollections of sympathy between you and me, don’t breathe a word about any juvenile performance of mine—­don’t, if you have any love left for me.  Dear friend,