Now he is in improved spirits and has taken to writing Latin alcaics on Garibaldi, which is refreshing, I suppose.
Ask at the post-office for my letter, but don't fancy that it may be a line more lively than this.

No alcaics from me! One soul has gone from me, at least, the soul that writes letters.
May God bless you, dearest, kindest Fanny.

Love me a little.

Don't leave off feeling 'on private affairs' too much for _that_.
Robert's best love with that of your loving BA.
* * * * * _To Mrs.Jameson_ Villa Alberti, Siena: August 26 [1859].
Dearest friend, what have you thought of me?
I was no more likely to write to you about the 'peace' than about any stroke of personal calamity.

The peace fell like a bomb on us all, and for my part, you may still find somewhere on the ground splinters of my heart, if you look hard.