26 Devonshire Street: Saturday, [about August 1851].

My dearest Mrs. Martin,--Day by day, and hour by hour almost, I have
wanted to thank you again and again for your remedy (which I did not
use, by the bye, being much better), and to answer your inquiry about
me, which really I could not deliver over to Arabel to answer; but the
baby did not go to the country with Wilson, and I have been 'devoted'
since she went away; _une ame perdue_, with not an instant out of the
four-and-twenty hours to call my own. It appeared, at the last, that
Wilson would have a drawback to her enjoyments in having the child, and
I did not choose that: she had only a fortnight, you see, after five
years, to be with her family. So I took her place with him; it was
necessary, for he was in a state of deplorable grief when he missed her,
and has refused ever since to allow any human being except me to do a
single thing for him. I hold him in my arms at night, dress and wash him
in the morning, walk out with him, and am not allowed either to read or
write above three minutes at a time. He has learnt to say in English 'No
more,' and I am bound to be obedient. Perhaps I may make out five
minutes just to write this, for he is playing in the passage with a
child of the house, but even so much is doubtful. He has made very good
friends with a girl here, and Arabel has sent her maid ever so often to
tempt him away for half an hour, so as to give me breathing time, but he
won't be tempted: he has it in his head that the world is in a
conspiracy against him to take 'mama' away after having taken 'Lily,'
and he is bound to resist it.

After all, the place of nursery maid is more suitable to me than that of
poetess (or even poet's wife) in this obstreperous London. I was nearly
killed the first weeks, what with the climate, and what with the
kindness (and what with the want of kindness), and looked wretchedly,
whether Reynolds Peyton saw it or not, and coughed day and night, till
Robert took fright, and actually fixed a day for taking me forthwith
back to Paris. I had to give up a breakfast at Rogers', and shut myself
up in two rooms for a week, and refuse, like Wiedeman, to be tempted out
anywhere, but, after that, I grew better, and the wind changed, and now
the cough, though not gone, is quieted, and I look a different person,
and have ceased to grow thin. But a racketing life will never do for me,
nor an English atmosphere, I am much afraid. The lungs seem to labour in
this heavy air. Oh, it is so unlike the air of the Continent; I say
nothing of Florence, but even of Paris, where I do wish to be able to
live, on account of the nearness to this dear detestable England.

Now let me tell you of Wimpole Street. Henry has been very kind in
coming not infrequently; he has a kind, good heart. Occy, too, I have
seen three or four times, Alfred and Sette once. My dearest Arabel is,
of course, here once if not twice a day, and for hours at a time,
bringing me great joy always, and Henrietta's dear kindness in coming to
London on purpose to see me, for a week, has left a perfume in my life.
Both those beloved sisters have been, as ever, perfect to me. Arabel is
vexed just now, and so am I, my brothers having fixed with papa to go
out of town directly, and she caring more to stay where I am....

I have not written to papa since our arrival through my fear of
involving Arabel; but as soon as they go to the country I shall
_hopelessly_ write. He is very well and in good spirits, thank God.

We have spent two days at New Cross with my husband's father and sister,
and she has been here constantly. Most affectionate they are to me, and
the babe is taken into adoration by Mr. Browning.

But here he is upon me again! Indeed, I have had wonderful luck in
having been able to write all this; and now, God bless both of you, my
dearest friends. Oh, I do feel to my heart all your kindness in wishing
to have us with you, and, indeed, Robert _would_ like to see
Herefordshire, but--

[_The remainder of this letter is wanting_]