Haworth_ [Rome: autumn 1860.] In one word, my dearest Fanny, I will thank you for what is said and not said, for sympathy true and tender each way.

It is a great privilege to be able to talk and cry; but _I cannot_, you know.

I have suffered very much, and feel tired and beaten.

Now, it's all being lived down; thrown behind or pushed before, as such things must be if we _are_ to live: not forgetting, not feeling any tie slackened, loving unchangeably, and believing how mere a _line_ this is to overstep between the living and the dead.
Do you know, the first thing from without which did me the least good was a letter from America, from dear Mrs.Stowe.Since we parted here in the spring, neither of us had written, and she had not the least idea of my being unhappy for any reason.

In fact, her thought was to congratulate me on public affairs (knowing how keenly I felt about them), but her letter dwelt at length upon spiritualism.