Monckton Milnes seen anything so as to believe?  Is it true that Lord Lyndhurst was lifted up in a chair?  Does he believe?  I hear through Mr. Trollope and Chapman that Edwin Landseer has received the faith, and did everything possible to persuade Dickens to investigate, which Dickens refused.  Afraid of the truth, of course, having deeply committed himself to negatives.  This is a moral lachete, hard for my feminine mind to conceive of.  Dickens, too, who is so fond of ghost-stories, as long as they are impossible....

I can scarcely imagine the summer’s passing without a struggle on the Continent of Italy.  It can’t be, I think.  At least we are prepared for it here.

We find Wilson well.  Mr. Landor also.  He had thrown a dinner out of the window only once, and a few things of the kind, but he lives in a chronic state of ingratitude to the whole world except Robert, who waits for his turn.  I am glad to think that poor Mr. Landor is well; unsympathetical to me as he is in his morale.  He has the most beautiful sea-foam of a beard you ever saw, all in a curl and white bubblement of beauty.  He informed us the other morning that he had ’quite given up thinking of a future state—­he had had thoughts of it once, but that was very early in life.’  Mr. Kirkup (who is deafer than a post now) tries in vain to convert him to the spiritual doctrine.  Landor laughs so loud in reply that Kirkup hears him.

Pray keep Mr. ——­ off till we have settled the independence and unity of Italy.  It isn’t the hour for peace, and we don’t want a second Villafranca.  By the way, I dare say nobody in England lays his face in the dust and acknowledges, in consequence of the official declaration of the Prussian Minister (to the effect that Prussia was to attack on the crossing of the Mincio, and that nothing but the unexpected conclusion of hostilities hindered the general war)—­acknowledges that Napoleon stands fully justified in making that peace.  I cannot expect so much justice in an Englishman.  He would rather bury his past mistake in a present mistake than simply confess it.

Now no more.  May God bless you!  Do be happy, and do write to me.  We talk of Paris and England for next year.

Your very affectionate
BA.

Robert’s love and Pen’s.

* * * * *

To Miss Browning

[Florence:  about June 1860.]

I didn’t write last time, dearest Sarianna, not only because of being over-busy or over-tired, but because I had not the heart that day.  Peni had another touch of fever, and was forced to have a doctor and cataplasms to his feet.  It was only a day’s anxiety, but I didn’t like writing just then.  He had been in the sun or the wind or something.  I was glad to get away from Rome.  There were two cases of fever in our courtyard, and both the sun and the shade were suspectes.  As far as Pen is concerned, the evil was averted,