'Yet could not all creation pierce Beyond the bottom of his eye.' Mediums cheat certainly. So do people who are not mediums. I congratulate you on liking anybody better. That's pleasant for _you_ at any rate. My changes are always the other way. I begin by seeing the beautiful in most people, and then comes the disillusion. It isn't caprice or unsteadiness; oh no! it's merely _fate_. _My_ fate, I mean. Alas, my bubbles, my bubbles! But I'm growing too original, and will break off. My Emperor at least has not deceived me, and I'm going into the fire for him with a little 'brochure' of political poems, which you shall take at Chapman's with the last edition of 'Aurora' when you go to England. Thank you a hundred times from both Robert and me for the interesting relation of Cobden's sayings on him. If Cobden had not rushed beyond civilisation, I should like to offer him my little book. I should like it. Self-love is the great malady of England, and immortal would the statesman be who could and would tear a wider horizon for the popular mind. As to the rifle cry, _I_ never doubted (for one) that it had its beginning with 'interested persons.' Never was any cry more ignoble. A rescues B from being murdered by C, and E cries out, 'What if _A_ should murder _me_!' That's the logic of the subject. And the sentiment is worthy of the logic. I expect to be torn to pieces by English critics for what I have ventured to write.... Write me one of your amusing letters, and take our love, especially Your ever affectionate BA'S. There is no Roman news, people are so scarce. The Storys have given a ball, Italians chiefly. We think of little but politics. * * * * * _To Mrs. Martin_ 28 Via del Tritone, Rome: December 29 [1859].