Paris! I have not been out of the house, except when I came into it. But to-day, Thursday, I mean to drive out a little with Robert. You know I have a weakness for Paris, and a passion for Italy; which would operate thus, perhaps, that I could easily stay here when once here, if there was but a sun to stay with me. We are in admiration, all of us, at everything, from cutlets to costumes. On the latter point I shall give myself great airs over you barbarians presently—no offence to Zerlinda—and, to begin, pray draw your bonnets more over your faces.
I would rather send this bit than wait, as I did not write to you from Marseilles.
May God bless you! If you knew how happy I think you for being in Italy—if you knew.
I shiver with the cold. I tie up three loves to send you from
Your truly affectionate
Ba.
Hôtel Hyacinthe, St. Honoré, Paris:
Thursday [July 8, 1858].
My dearest dear Isa,—We are here, having lost nothing—neither a carpet bag nor a bit of our true love for you. We arrived the evening before last, and this letter should have been written yesterday if I hadn't been interrupted. Such a pleasant journey we had, after the curse of the sea! ('Where there shall be no more sea' beautifies the thought of heaven to me. But Frederick Tennyson's prophets shall compound for as many railroads as they please.)