I get letters from my sisters which make me feel '_froissee_' all over, except that they seem pretty well.
My eldest brother has returned from Jamaica, and has taken a place with a Welsh name on the Welsh borders for three years--what I knew he would do.

He wrote me some tender words, dear fellow....
May God bless you! Yours in much love, BA.
* * * * * _To Miss E.F.

Haworth_ La Villa, Bagni di Lucca: September 14, 1857 [postmark].
My dearest Fanny,--A letter from me will have crossed yours and told you of all our misadventures.

It has been a summer to me full of blots, vexations, anxieties; and if, in spite of everything, I am physically stronger for the fresh air and smell of green leaves, that's a proof that soul and body are two.
Our friends of the hotel went away last Saturday, and I have a letter from Isa Blagden with a good account of Lytton.

He goes back to Villa Bricchieri, where they are to house together, unless Sir Edward comes down (which he may do) to catch up his son and change the plan.