another which seems to move and coil in the moving coiling shadow. . . .'


She writes again:


Bagni di Lucca: Oct. 2 ('49).

'. . . I have performed a great exploit--ridden on a donkey five miles
deep into the mountain, to an almost inaccessible volcanic ground not
far from the stars. Robert on horseback, and Wilson and the nurse (with
Baby) on other donkies,--guides of course. We set off at eight in the
morning, and returned at six P.M. after dining on the mountain pinnacle,
I dreadfully tired, but the child laughing as usual, burnt brick colour
for all bad effect. No horse or ass untrained for the mountains could
have kept foot a moment where we penetrated, and even as it was, one
could not help the natural thrill. No road except the bed of exhausted
torrents--above and through the chestnut forests precipitous beyond
what you would think possible for ascent or descent. Ravines tearing the
ground to pieces under your feet. The scenery, sublime and wonderful,
satisfied us wholly, as we looked round on the world of innumerable
mountains, bound faintly with the grey sea--and not a human habitation.
. . .'


The following fragment, which I have received quite without date, might
refer to this or to a somewhat later period.


'If he is vain about anything in the world it is about my improved