sculptor) was far more interesting to me than Gibson’s.  By the way, Mr. Page’s portrait of Miss Cushman is really something wonderful—­soul and body together.  You can show nothing like it in England, take for granted.  Indeed, the American artists consider themselves a little aggrieved when you call it as good as a Titian. ‘Did Titian ever produce anything like it?’ said an admirer in my hearing.  Critics wonder whether the colour will stand.  It is a theory of this artist that time does not tone, and that Titian’s pictures were painted as we see them.  The consequence of which is that his (Page’s) pictures are undertoned in the first instance, and if they change at all will turn black[30].  May all Boston rather turn black, which it may do one of these days by an eruption from the South, when ‘Uncle Tomison’ gets strong enough.

We have been to St. Peter’s; we have stood in the Forum and seen the Coliseum.  Penini says:  ’The sun has tome out.  I think God knows I want to go out to walk, and so He has sent the sun out.’  There’s a child who has faith enough to put us all to shame.  A vision of angels wouldn’t startle him in the least.  When his poor little friend died, and we had to tell him, he inquired, fixing on me those earnest blue eyes, ’Did papa see the angels when they took away Joe?’ And when I answered ‘No’ (for I never try to deceive him by picturesque fictions, I should not dare, I tell him simply what I believe myself), ’Then did Joe go up by himself?’ In a moment there was a burst of cries and sobs.  The other day he asked me if I thought Joe had seen the Dute of Wellyton.  He has a medal of the Duke of Wellington, which put the name into his head.  By-the-bye, Robert yesterday, in a burst of national vanity, informed the child that this was the man who beat Napoleon.  ’Then I sint he a velly naughty man.  What! he beat Napoleon wiz a stit?’ (with a stick).  Imagine how I laughed, and how Robert himself couldn’t help laughing.  So, the seraphs judge our glories!

If you have seen Sir David Brewster lately I should like to know whether he has had more experience concerning the tables, and has modified his conclusions in any respect.  I myself am convinced as I can be of any fact, that there is an external intelligence; the little I have seen is conclusive to me.  And this makes me more anxious that the subject should be examined with common fairness by learned persons.  Only the learned won’t learn—­that’s the worst of them.  Their hands are too full to gather simples.  It seems to me a new development of law in the human constitution, which has worked before in exceptional cases, but now works in general.

Dearest friend, I do not speak of your own anxious watch and tender grief, but think of them deeply.  Believe that I love you always and in all truth.

Your
E.B.B.

* * * * *

To Miss E.F.  Haworth