Part 6 (2/2)

VENICE, _4th February, 1877_.

Your praise and sympathy do me double good, because you could not praise me so nicely and brightly without pleasure of your own. I'm always sure a Fors will be good if I feel it will please Susie;--but I can only write them now as they're given me; it all depends on what I'm about. But I'm doing a great deal just now which you will enjoy--I'm thankful to say, I know you will. St. Theodore's horse is delightful[20]--and our Venetian doggie--and some birds are coming too!

This is not a letter--but just a purr.

[Footnote 20: St. Theodore had a contest with a Dragon, and his horse gave considerable help, trampling it down with its four feet. The Saint spoke first to the horse as to a man--”Oh thou horse of Christ comfort thee, be strong like a man, and come that we may conquer the contrary enemy.” See ”Fors,” vol. vii. also ”St. Mark's Rest,”]

SAINTS AND FLOWERS.

VENICE, _17th February_ (1877).

It is very grievous to me to hear of your being in that woeful weather while I have two days' suns.h.i.+ne out of three, and starlight or moonlight always; to-day the whole chain of the Alps from Vicenza to Trieste s.h.i.+ning cloudless all day long, and the sea-gulls floating high in the blue, like little dazzling boys' kites.

Yes, St. Francis would have been greatly pleased with you watching p.u.s.s.y drink your milk; so would St. Theodore, as you will see by next Fors, which I have ordered to be sent you in first proof, for I am eager that you should have it. What wonderful flowers these pinks of St. Ursula's are, for life! They seem to bloom like everlastings.

I get my first rosebud and violets of this year from St. Helena's Island to-day. How I begin to pity people who have no saints to be good to them! Who is yours at Coniston? There must have been some in the country once upon a time.

With their help I am really getting well on with my history and drawing, and hope for a sweet time at home in the heathery days, and many a nice afternoon tea at the Thwaite.

VENICE, _8th March, 1877_.

That is entirely new and wonderful to me about the singing mouse.[21]

Douglas (was it the Douglas?) saying ”he had rather hear the lark sing than the mouse squeak” needs revision. It is a marvelous fact in natural history.

The wind is singing a wild tune to-night--cannot be colder on our own heaths--and the waves dash like our Waterhead. Oh me, when I'm walking round it again how like a sad dream all this Venice will be!

[Footnote 21: A pleasant story that a friend sent me from France. The mouse often came into their sitting-room and actually sang to them, the notes being a little like a canary's.--S. B.]

VENICE, _15th May, 1877_.

I've not tumbled into the lagoons, nor choked myself in a pa.s.sion, nor gone and made a monk of myself--nor got poisoned by the Italian cooks.

I'm packing up, and coming to the Thwaite as soon as ever I can--after a little Alpine breathing of high air.

I'm pretty well--if you'll forgive me for being so naughty--else I can't be even plain well--but I'm always your loving----

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