'. . . By this time you have got my little book ('Hohenstiel') and seen for yourself whether I make the best or worst of the case. I think, in the main, he meant to do what I say, and, but for weakness,--grown more apparent in his last years than formerly,--would have done what I say he did not.* I thought badly of him at the beginning of his career, _et pour cause_: better afterward, on the strength of the promises he made, and gave indications of intending to redeem. I think him very weak in the last miserable year. At his worst I prefer him to Thiers' best. I am told my little thing is succeeding--sold 1,400 in the first five days, and before any notice appeared. I remember that the year I made the little rough sketch in Rome, '60, my account for the last six months with Chapman was--_nil_, not one copy disposed of! . . . * This phrase is a little misleading. '. . . I am glad you like what the editor of the Edinburgh calls my eulogium on the second empire,--which it is not, any more than what another wiseacre affirms it to be "a scandalous attack on the old constant friend of England"--it is just what I imagine the man might, if he pleased, say for himself.' Mr. Browning continues: 'Spite of my ailments and bewailments I have just all but finished another poem of quite another kind, which shall amuse you in the spring, I hope! I don't go sound asleep at all events. 'Balaustion'--the second edition is in the press I think I told you. 2,500 in five months, is a good sale for the likes of me. But I met Henry Taylor (of Artevelde) two days ago at dinner, and he said he had never gained anything by his books, which surely is a shame--I mean, if no buyers mean no readers. . . .' 'Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau' was written in Scotland, where Mr. Browning was the guest of Mr. Ernest Benzon: having left his sister to the care of M. and Madame Milsand at St.-Aubin. The ailment he speaks of consisted, I believe, of a severe cold. Another of the occurrences of 1871 was Mr. Browning's election as Life Governor of the London University. A passage from a letter dated March 30, '72, bears striking testimony to the constant warmth of his affections. '. . . The misfortune, which I did not guess when I accepted the invitation, is that I shall lose some of the last days of Milsand, who has been here for the last month: no words can express the love I have for him, you know. He is increasingly precious to me. . . . Waring came back the other day, after thirty years' absence, the same as ever,--nearly. He has been Prime Minister at New Zealand for a year and a half, but gets tired, and returns home with a poem.'* * 'Ranolf and Amohia'. This is my last extract from the correspondence with Miss Blagden. Her death closed it altogether within the year.