In the spring, when I had recovered, my son and his wife came to Spezia, and we all went to Florence, where we had the pleasure of seeing many old friends. We returned to Spezia, and my son and his wife left us to go back to England, intending to meet us again somewhere the following spring. I little thought we never should meet again.... My son sent his sisters a beautiful little cutter, built by Mr. Forrest in London, which has been a great resource to them. I always insist on their taking a good sailor with them, although I am not in the least nervous for their safety. Indeed, small as the "Frolic" is--and she is only about twenty-eight feet from stem to stern--she has weathered some stiff gales gallantly, as, for instance, when our friend, Mr. Montague Brown, British consul at Genoa, sailed her from Genoa to Spezia in very bad weather; and in a very dangerous squall my daughters were caught in, coming from Amalfi to Sorrento. The "Frolic" had only just arrived at Spezia, when we heard of the sudden death of my dear son, Oct., 1865. [This event, which took from my mother's last years one of her chief delights, she bore with her usual calm courage, looking forward confidently to a reunion at no distant date with one who had been the most dutiful of sons and beloved of friends. She never permitted herself, in writing her Recollections, to refer to her feelings under these great sorrows.] * * * * * Some time after this, my widowed daughter-in-law spent a few months with us. On her return to London, I sent the manuscript of the "Molecular and Microscopic Science" with her for publication. In writing this book I made a great mistake, and repent it. Mathematics are the natural bent of my mind. If I had devoted myself exclusively to that study, I might probably have written something useful, as a new era had begun in that science. Although I got "Chasles on the Higher Geometry," it could be but a secondary object while I was engaged in writing a popular book. Subsequently, it became a source of deep interest and occupation to me. Spezia is very much spoilt by the works in progress for the arsenal, though nothing can change the beauty of the gulf as seen from our windows, especially the group of the Carrara mountains, with fine peaks and ranges of hills, becoming more and more verdant down to the water's edge. The effect of the setting-sun on this group is varied and brilliant beyond belief. Even I, in spite of my shaking hand, resumed the brush, and painted a view of the ruined Castle of Ostia, at the mouth of the Tiber, from a sketch of my own, for my dear friend Teresa Doria. We now came to live at Naples; and on leaving Spezia, I spent a fortnight with Count and Countess Usedom at the Villa Capponi, near Florence, where, though unable to visit, I had the pleasure of seeing my Florentine friends again.