We had a prosperous journey, except the sea voyage which prostrated all of us--_Annunziata_, to 'the lowest deep' of misery. At Marseilles we slept, and again at Lyons and Dijon, taking express trains the whole way, so that there was as little fatigue as possible; and what with the reviving change of air and these precautions, I felt less tired throughout the journey than I have sometimes felt at Florence after a long drive and much talking. We had scarcely any companions in the carriages, and were able to stretch to the full longitude of us--a comfort always; and I had 'Madame Ancelot,' and 'Doit et Avoir,' which dropped into my bag from Isa's kind fingers on the last evening, and we gathered 'Galignanis' and 'Illustrations' day by day. Travelling has really become a luxury. I feel the _repose_ of it chiefly. Yes, no possibility of unpleasant visitors! no fear of horrible letters! quite lifted above the plane of bad news, or of the expectation of bad news, which is nearly the same thing. There you are, shut in, in a carriage! Quite out of reach of the telegraph even, which you mock at as you run alongside the wires. Yes, but some visitors, some faces, and voices are missed. And altogether I was very sad at leaving my Italy, oh, very sad!... Tell me how you like 'up in the villa' life, and how long you shall bear it. 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. * * * * * _To Miss I. Blagden_ 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.)