Of late, other hindrances have come to writing this, in the shape of various labours of Hercules, which fall sometimes to Omphale as well.  We go to England in a week or two or three, and we take between us some sixteen thousand lines, eight on one side, eight on the other, which ought to be ready for publication.  I have not finished my seventh thousand yet; Robert is at his mark.  Then, I have to see that we have shoes and stockings to go in, and that Penini’s little trousers are creditably frilled and tucked.  Then, about twenty letters lie by me waiting to be answered in time, so as to save me from a mobbing in England.  Then there are visits to be paid all round in Florence, to make amends for the sins of the winter; visiting, like almsgiving, being put generally in the place of virtue, when the latter is found too inconvenient.  Altogether, my head swims and my heart ticks before the day’s done, with positive weariness.  For there are Penini’s lessons, you are to understand, besides the rest.  And ‘between the intersections,’ cod liver oil to be taken judiciously, in order to appear before my English friends with due decency of corporeal coverture.

Well, now, do tell me, shall you go to England, you?  You will see my reasons for being very interested.  Oh, I hope you won’t be snatched away to Naples, or nailed down at Rome.  Railroads open from Marseilles; the Exhibition open at Paris!  Surely, surely Dr. Braun will go to Paris to see the Exhibition.  His conscience won’t let him off.  Tell him too, from me, that in London he may see a spirit if he will go for it.  I have a letter from a friend who swears to me he has shaken hands with three or four—­’softer, more thrilling than any woman’s hand’—­’tenderly touching’—­think of that!  The American ‘medium’ Hume is turning the world upside down in London with this spiritual influx.

Let me remember to tell you.  Your paper was in the ‘Athenaeum.’  Therefore, if you were not paid for it, it was the more abominable.  Robert saw it with his own eyes, printed.  When I heard from you that you had heard nothing, I mentioned the circumstance to Mrs. Jameson in a letter I was writing to her, and I do hope she has not neglected since to give you some information at least.  You are aware probably of the excellent effect with which that kind Mrs. Procter has managed a private subscription in behalf of dear Mrs. Jameson, in consequence of which she will be placed in circumstances of ease for the rest of her life.  Fanny Kemble nobly gave a hundred pounds towards this good purpose.  Mrs. Jameson spoke in her last letter of coming to Italy this summer, and I dare say we shall have the ill luck to lose her, miss her, cross her en route, perhaps.

We hear from dear Mr. Kenyon and from Miss Bayley; each very well and full of animation.  If it were not for them, and my dear sisters, and one or two other hands I shall care to clasp (beside the spirits!) I would give much not to go north.  Oh, we Italians grow out of the English bark; it won’t hold us after a time.  Such a happy year I have had this last!  I do love Florence so!  When Penini says, ’Sono Italiano, voglio essere Italiano,’ I agree with him perfectly.