A previous letter of yours pained me much because I seemed to have given you the painful trouble in it of describing your state, your weakness.  Ah, I knew what that state was, and it was therefore that the slip of paper which came with ‘Atherton’ seemed to me so ominous!  By the way, I shall see ‘Atherton’ before long, I dare say.  The ‘German Library’ in our street is to have a ‘box of new books’ almost directly, and in it surely must be ‘Atherton,’ and you shall hear my thoughts of the book as soon as I catch sight of it.  Then you have sent me the Dramas.  Thank you, thank you; they will be precious.  I saw the article in the ‘Athenaeum’ with joy and triumph, and knew Mr. Chorley by the ’Roman hand.’  In the ‘Illustrated News’ also, Robert (not I) read an enthusiastic notice.  He fell upon it at the reading-room where I never go on account of my she-dom, women in Florence being supposed not—­

(Part of this letter is missing)

Think of me who am far, yet near in love and thought.  Love me with that strong heart of yours.  May God bless it, bless it!

I am ever your attached
E.B.B., rather BA.

I have had a sad letter from poor Haydon’s daughter.  She has fifty-six pounds a year, and can scarcely live on it in England, and inquires if she could live in any family in Florence.  I fear to recommend her to come so far on such means.  Robert’s love. May God bless you and keep you!  Love me.

* * * * *

To Miss Mitford

Florence:  October 19, 1854.

I will try not to be overjoyed, my dear, dearest Miss Mitford, but, indeed, it is difficult to refrain from catching at hope with both hands.  If the general health will but rally, there is nothing fatal about a spine disease.  May God bless you, give you the best blessing in earth and heaven, as the God of the living in both places.  We ought not to be selfish, nor stupid, so as to be afraid of leaving you in His hands.  What is beautiful and joyful to observe is the patience and self-possession with which you endure even the most painful manifestation of His will; and that, while you lose none of that interest in the things of our mortal life which is characteristic of your sympathetic nature, you are content, just as if you felt none, to let the world go, according to the decision of God.  May you be more and more confirmed and elevated and at rest—­being the Lord’s, whether absent from the body or present in it!  For my own part, I have been long convinced that what we call death is a mere incident in life—­perhaps scarcely a greater one than the occurrence of puberty, or the revolution which comes with any new emotion or influx of new knowledge.  I am heterodox about sepulchres, and believe that no part of us will ever lie in a grave.  I don’t think much of my nail-parings—­do you?—­not even of the nail of my thumb when I cut off what Penini calls the ‘gift-mark’