To wait to a second page without thanking you for your kindness and sympathy about ‘Colombe’ does not do justice to the grateful sense I had of both at the time, and have now.  We were very glad to have your opinion and impressions.  Most of our friends took for granted that we had supernatural communications on the subject, and did not send us a word.  Mrs. Duncan Stewart was one of the kind exceptions (with yourself and one or two more), and I write to thank her.  It was very pleasant to hear what you said, dear Fanny.  Certainly, says the author, you are right, and Helen Faucit wrong, in the particular reading you refer to; but she seems to have been right in so much, that we should only remember our grateful thoughts of her in general.

Now what am I to say about my illustrations—­that is, your illustrations of my poems?  To thank you again and again first.  To be eager next to see what is done.  To be sure it is good, and surer still that you are good for spending your strength on me.  See how it is.  When you wrote to me, a new edition was in the press; yes, and I was expecting every day to hear it was out again.  But it would not have done, I suppose, to have used illustrations for that sort of edition; it would have raised the price (already too high) beyond the public.  But there will be time always for such arrangements—­when it so pleases Mr. Chapman, I suppose.  Do tell me more of what you have done.

We did not go to Rome last winter, in spite of the spirits of the sun who declared from Lord Stanhope’s crystal ball, you remember, that we should.  And we don’t go to England till next summer, because we must see Rome next winter, and must lie perdus in Italy meantime.  I have had a happy winter in Florence, recovered my lost advantages in point of health, been busy and tranquil, had plenty of books and talk, and seen my child grow rosier and prettier (said aside) every day.  Robert and I are talking of going up to the monasteries beyond Vallombrosa for a day or two, on mule-back through forests and mountains.  We have had an excursion to Prato (less difficult) already, and we keep various dreams in our heads to be acted out on occasion.  Our favorite friend here is a brother of Alfred Tennyson’s, himself a poet, but most admirable to me for his simplicity and truth.  Robert is very fond of him.  Then we like Powers—­of the ’Greek Slave’—­Swedenborgian and spiritualist; and Mr. Lytton, Sir Edward’s son, who is with us often, and always a welcome visitor.  All these confederate friends are ranged with me on the believing side with regard to the phenomena, and Robert has to keep us at bay as he best can.  Oh, do tell me what you can.  Your account deeply interested me.  We have heard many more intimate personal relations from Americans who brush us with their garments as they pass through Florence, and I should like to talk these things over with you.  Paid mediums, as paid clairvoyants in general, excite