And how can I thank you enough for this good news--all this music I shall be so thoroughly gratified to hear? Ever yours faithfully, Robert Browning. His last letter to her was written in 1845; the subject being a concert of her own sacred music which she was about to give; and again, although more slightly, I anticipate the course of events, in order to give it in its natural connection with the present one. Mr. Browning was now engaged to be married, and the last ring of youthful levity had disappeared from his tone; but neither the new happiness nor the new responsibility had weakened his interest in his boyhood's friend. Miss Flower must then have been slowly dying, and the closing words of the letter have the solemnity of a last farewell. Sunday. Dear Miss Flower,--I was very foolishly surprized at the sorrowful finical notice you mention: foolishly; for, God help us, how else is it with all critics of everything--don't I hear them talk and see them write? I dare-say he admires you as he said. For me, I never had another feeling than entire admiration for your music--entire admiration--I put it apart from all other English music I know, and fully believe in it as _the_ music we all waited for. Of your health I shall not trust myself to speak: you must know what is unspoken. I should have been most happy to see you if but for a minute--and if next Wednesday, I might take your hand for a moment.-- But you would concede that, if it were right, remembering what is now very old friendship. May God bless you for ever (The signature has been cut off.) In the autumn of 1844 Mr. Browning set forth for Italy, taking ship, it is believed, direct to Naples. Here he made the acquaintance of a young Neapolitan gentleman who had spent most of his life in Paris; and they became such good friends that they proceeded to Rome together. Mr. Scotti was an invaluable travelling companion, for he engaged their conveyance, and did all such bargaining in their joint interest as the habits of his country required. 'As I write,' Mr. Browning said in a letter to his sister, 'I hear him disputing our bill in the next room. He does not see why we should pay for six wax candles when we have used only two.' At Rome they spent most of their evenings with an old acquaintance of Mr. Browning's, then Countess Carducci, and she pronounced Mr. Scotti the handsomest man she had ever seen. He certainly bore no appearance of being the least prosperous. But he blew out his brains soon after he and his new friend had parted; and I do not think the act was ever fully accounted for.