Florence: March 17, 1855.

I have your letter, dear Mr. Ruskin. The proof is the pleasure it has
given me--yes, and given my husband, which is better. 'When has a
letter given me so much pleasure?' he exclaimed, after reading it; 'will
you write?' I thank you much--much for thinking of it, and I shall be
thankful of anything you can tell me of dearest Miss Mitford. I had a
letter from her just before she went, written in so firm a hand, and so
vital a spirit, that I could feel little apprehension of never seeing
her in the body again. God's will be done. It is better so, I am sure.
She seemed to me to see her way clearly, and to have as few troubling
doubts in respect to the future life as she had to the imminent end of
the present.

Often we have talked and thought of you since the last time we saw you,
and, before your letter came, we had ventured to put on the list of
expected pleasures connected with our visit to England, fixed for next
summer, the pleasure of seeing more of Mr. Ruskin. For the rest, there
will be some bitter things too. I do not miss them generally in England,
and among them this time will be an empty place where I used always to
find a tender and too indulgent friend.

You need not be afraid of my losing a letter of yours. The peril would
be mine in that case. But among the advantages of our Florence--the art,
the olives, the sunshine, the cypresses, and don't let me forget the
Arno and mountains at sunset time--is that of an all but infallible post
office. One loses letters at Rome. Here, I think, we have lost _one_ in
the course of eight years, and for that loss I hold my correspondent to
blame.

How good you are to me! How kind! The soul of a cynic, at its third
stage of purification, might feel the value of 'Gold' laid on the
binding of a book by the hand of John Ruskin. Much more I, who am apt to
get too near that ugly 'sty of Epicurus' sometimes! Indeed you have
gratified me deeply. There was 'once on a time,' as is said in the fairy
tales, a word dropped by you in one of your books, which I picked up and
wore for a crown. Your words of goodwill are of great price to me
always, and one of my dear friend Miss Mitford's latest kindnesses to me
was copying out and sending to me a sentence from a letter of yours
which expressed a favorable feeling towards my writings. She knew
well--she who knew me--the value it would have for me, and the courage
it would give me for any future work.

With my husband's cordial regards,

I remain most truly yours,
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

Our American friends, who sent to Dresden in vain for your letter, are
here now, but will be in England soon on their way to America, with the
hope of trying fate again in another visit to you. Thank you! Also thank
you for your inquiry about my health. I have had a rather bad attack on
my chest (never very strong) through the weather having been colder than
usual here, but now I am very well again--for _me_.