It has seemed necessary to say so much, lest it should be supposed that
any of the omissions, which have been made in order to reduce the bulk
of the letters within reasonable limits, cover passages in which such a
difference is spoken of. In no single instance is this the case. The
omissions have been made in the interests of the reader, not in order to
affect in any way the representation which the letters give of their
writer's feelings and character. With this preface they may be left to
tell their own tale.

* * * * *


_To Miss Browning_

Florence: November 14, 1852 [postmark].

My dearest Sarianna,--You can't think how pleased I am to find myself in
Florence again in our own house, everything looking exactly as if we had
left it yesterday. Scarcely I can believe that we have gone away at all.
But Robert has been perfectly demoralised by Paris, and thinks it all as
dull as possible after the boulevards: 'no life, no variety.' Oh, of
course it _is_ very dead in comparison! but it's a beautiful death, and
what with the lovely climate, and the lovely associations, and the sense
of repose, I could turn myself on my pillow and sleep on here to the end
of my life; only be sure that I _shall do no such thing_. We are going
back to Paris; you will have us safe. Peninni had worked himself up to a
state of complete agitation on entering Florence, through hearing so
much about it. First he kissed me and then Robert again and again, as if
his little heart were full. '_Poor Florence_' said he while we passed
the bridge. Certainly there never was such a darling since the world