My dearest Mrs. Martin,—­How am I to thank you for this most beautiful shawl, looking fresh from Galatea’s flocks, and woven by something finer than her fingers?  You are too good and kind, and I shall wrap myself in this piece of affectionateness on your part with very pleasant feelings.  Thank you, thank you.  I only wish I could have seen you (though more or less dimly, it would have been a satisfaction) in the face of your friend who was so kind as to bring the parcel to me.  But I have been very unwell, and was actually in bed when he called; unwell with the worst attack on the chest I ever suffered from in Italy.  Oh, I should have written to you long since if it had not been for this.  For a month past or more I have been ill.  Now, indeed, I consider myself convalescent; the exhausting cough and night fever are gone, I may say, the pulse quiet, and, though considerably weakened and pulled down, that will be gradually remedied as long as this genial mildness of the weather lasts.  You were quite right in supposing us struck here by the cold of which you complained even at Pau.  Not only here but at Pisa there has been snow and frost, together with a bitter wind which my precaution of keeping steadily to two rooms opening one into another could not defend me from.  My poor Robert has been horribly vexed about me, of course, and indeed suffered physically at one time through sleepless nights, diversified by such pastimes as keeping fires alight and warming coffee, &c. &c.  Except for love’s sake it wouldn’t be worth while to live on at the expense of doing so much harm, but you needn’t exhort—­I don’t give it up.  I mean to live on and be well.

In the meantime, in generous exchange for your miraculous shawl, I send you back sixpence worth of rhymes.  They were written for Arabel’s Ragged School bazaar last spring (she wanted our names), and would not be worth your accepting but for the fact of their not being purchaseable anywhere.[39] A few copies were sent out to us lately.  Half I draw back my hand as I give you this little pamphlet, because I seem to hear dear Mr. Martin’s sardonic laughter at my phrase about the Czar.  ’If she wink, &c.’  Well, I don’t generally sympathise with the boasting mania of my countrymen, but it’s so much in the blood that, even with me, it exceeds now and then, you observe.  Ask him to be as gentle with me as possible.

Oh, the East, the East!  My husband has been almost frantic on the subject.  We may all cover our heads and be humble.[40] Verily we have sinned deeply.  As to ministers, that there is blame I do not doubt.  The Aberdeen element has done its worst, but our misfortune is that nobody is responsible; and that if you tear up Mr. So-and-so and Lord So-and-so limb from limb, as a mild politician recommended the other day, you probably would do a gross injustice against very well-meaning persons.  It’s the system, the system which is all one gangrene; the most corrupt system in Europe,