So far from regretting my marriage, it has made the happiness and honour of my life; and every unkindness received from my own house makes me press nearer to the tenderest and noblest of human hearts proved by the uninterrupted devotion of nearly five years.  Husband, lover, nurse—­not one of these, has Robert been to me, but all three together.  I neither regret my marriage, therefore, nor the manner of it, because the manner of it was a necessity of the act.  I thought so at the time, I think so now; and I believe that the world in general will decide (if the world is to be really appealed to) that my opinion upon this subject (after five years) is worth more.

Dearest Mrs. Martin, do write to me.  I keep my thoughts as far as I can from bitter things, and the affectionateness of my dearest sisters is indeed much on the other side.  Also, we are both giddy with the kind attentions pressed on us from every side, from some of the best in England.  It’s hard to think at all in such a confusion.  We met Tennyson (the Laureate) by a chance in Paris, who insisted that we should take possession of his house and servants at Twickenham and use them as long as we liked to stay in England.  Nothing could be more warmly kind, and we accepted the note in which he gave us the right of possession for the sake of the generous autograph, though we never intended in our own minds to act out the proposition.  Since then, Mr. Arnould, the Chancery barrister, has begged us to go and live in his town house (we don’t want houses, you see); Mrs. Fanny Kemble called on and left us tickets for her Shakespeare reading (by the way, I was charmed with her ’Hamlet’); Mr. Forster, of the ‘Examiner,’ gave us a magnificent dinner at Thames Ditton in sight of the swans; and we breakfast on Saturday with Mr. Rogers.  Then we have seen the Literary Guild actors at the Hanover Square rooms, and we have passed an evening with Carlyle (one of the great sights in England, to my mind).  He is a very warm friend of Robert’s, so that on every account I was delighted to see him face to face.  I can’t tell you what else we have done or not done.  It’s a great dazzling heap of things new and strange.  Barry Cornwall (Mr. Procter) came to see us every day till business swept him out of town, and dear Mrs. Jameson left her Madonna for us in despite of the printers.  Such kindness, on all sides.  Ah, there’s kindness in England after all.  Yet I grew cold to the heart as I set foot on the ground of it, and wished myself away.  Also, the sort of life is not perhaps the best for me and the sort of climate is really the worst.

You heard of Mr. Kenyon’s goodness to us; I told Arabel to tell you.

But I must end here.  Another time I will talk of Paris, which I do hope will suit us as a residence.  I was quite well there, the three weeks we stayed, and am far from well just now.  You see, the weight of the atmosphere, which seems to me like lead, combined with the excitement, is too much at once.  Oh, it won’t be very bad, I dare say.  I mean to try to be quiet, and abjure for the future the night air.