The fever is quite in abeyance--has been for two days, and we have all to be grateful for two most tranquil nights.

He amuses himself in putting maps together, and cutting out paper, and packing up his desk to _go to Florence_, which is the _idee fixe_ just now.

In fact when he can be moved we shall not wait here a day, for the rains have set in, and the dry elastic air of Florence will be excellent for him.

The medical man (an Italian) promises us almost that we may be able to go in a week from this time; but we won't hurry, we will run no risks.

For some days he has been allowed no other sort of nourishment but ten dessert-spoonfuls of thin broth twice a day--literally nothing; not a morsel of bread, not a drop of tea, nothing.