and sailed once more in May for England, where she was welcomed now by the friends she had made, almost as to another home. She spent the summer very quietly at Richmond, an ideally beautiful spot in Yorkshire, where she soon felt the beneficial influence of her peaceful surroundings. "The very air seems to rest one here," she writes; and inspired by the romantic loveliness of the place, she even composed the first few chapters of a novel, begun with a good deal of dash and vigor, but soon abandoned, for she was still struggling with depression and gloom.
" I have neither ability, energy, nor purpose," she writes. " It is impossible to do anything, so I am forced to set it aside for the present ; whether to take it up again or not in the future remains to be seen."
In the autumn she goes on the Continent, visiting the Hague, which " completely fascinates " her, and where she feels " stronger and more cheerful " than she has " for many a day." Then Paris, which this time amazes her " with its splendor and magnificence. All the ghosts of the Revolution are somehow laid," she writes, and she spends six weeks here enjoying to the full the gorgeous autumn weather, the sights, the picture galleries, the bookshops, the whole brilliant panorama of the life; and early in December she starts for Italy.
And now once more we come upon that keen
