onally, and avoided her even after she became a
member of his family; but he ended by growing as enthusiastic over her
as the rest. Even crabbed Carlyle, though much prejudiced against women
of her sort, bore testimony to his liking for her. He writes to
Emerson:--

"Margaret is an excellent soul; in real regard with both of us
here. Since she went I have been reading some of her papers in a
new book we have got; greatly superior to all I knew before,--in
fact, undeniable utterances of a truly heroic mind, altogether
unique, so far as I know, among the writing women of this
generation; rare enough too, God knows, among the writing men. She
is very narrow, but she is truly high. Honor to Margaret, and more
and more good speed to her!"

It was not until 1846 that Margaret's long desire to visit Europe was
gratified. It had been the dream of her life, and one cannot but be sad
at thought of its tragic ending. She spent some time in London, seeing
all the celebrities of the day there, and then crossed over to Paris.
Like London, Paris had then some brilliant men and women, whose peers
she has not seen since. Rachel was the queen of the tragic stage, George
Sand queen of the literary domain. De Balzac, Eugene Sue, Dumas _pere_,
and Beranger were all alive, and the centre of the Parisian literary
coterie. Liszt and Chopin held the musical world in the bondage of sweet
sounds. Into this little inner circle Margaret entered, and did not fail
to make her mark there. She was a second Madame de Stael in
conversation, and in her little circle was recognized as such.

From Paris she went to Italy, where the real romance of her life was
enacted and its tragic _denouement_ prepared for. Italy had been her
promised land from early youth. She had longed for its sunny clime, amid
the storms and winds of bleak New England; for its historic
associations, amid the poverty of a land without a past; for its
architectural splendors, amid the bareness and baldness of the New World
cities; for the grandeur of its ancient art, amid the poverty of the
America of that day; for its impassioned music, in a land almost devoid
of musical culture; and she had longed for the beautiful, sensuous, idle
life of its people, through all the strain of a strenuous and overworked
existence. Her vision had been fair, and at first she was much
disappointed. In artistic or architectural magnificence St. Peter's and
the Tra