I consider them on the whole an advance upon his former poems, and am ready to die at the stake for my faith in these last, even though the discerning public should set it down afterwards as only a 'Heretic's Tragedy.' Our friend Mr.Jarves came to read a part of your letter to us, confirmatory of doctrines he had heard from us on an earlier day.

The idea of your writing the art criticisms of the 'Leader' (!) was so stupendously ludicrous, there was no need of faith in your loyalty to laugh the whole imputation, at first hearing, to uttermost scorn.

I must say, in justice to Mr.Jarves, that he never did really believe one word of it, though a good deal ruffled and pained that it should have been believed by anybody.

He is full of admiring and grateful feeling for you, and has gone on to Italy in that mind.
As for me, I almost yearn to go too.

We have fallen into a pit here in Paris, upon evil days and rooms, an impulsive friend having taken an apartment for us facing the east, insufficiently protected, and with a bedroom wanting, so that we are still waiting, with trunks unpacked, and our child sleeping on the floor, till we can get emancipated anyhow.
Then, through the last week's cold, I have not been well--only it will not, I think, be much, as I am better already, and there will be no practical end to the talk of Nice and Pau, which my husband had begun a little.