e of this.

TO W.S.

_Rome, Dec_. 9, 1848.--As to Florence itself, I do not like it, with
the exception of the galleries and churches, and Michel Angelo's
marbles. I do not like it, for the reason you _do_, because it seems
like home. It seems a kind of Boston to me,--the same good and the
same ill; I have had enough of both. But I have so many dear friends
in Boston, that I must always wish to go there sometimes; and there
are so many precious objects of study in Florence, that a stay of
several months could not fail to be full of interest. Still, the
spring must be the time to be in Florence; there are so many charming
spots to visit in the environs, much nearer than those you go to
in Rome, within scope of an afternoon's drive. I saw them only when
parched with sun and covered with dust. In the spring they must be
very beautiful.

* * * * *

_December_, 1848.--I felt much what you wrote, "_if it were well with
my heart_." How seldom it is that a mortal is permitted to enjoy a
paradisaical scene, unhaunted by some painful vision from the past
or the future! With me, too, dark clouds of care and sorrow have
sometimes blotted out the sunshine. I have not lost from my side an
only sister, but have been severed from some visions still so dear,
they looked almost like hopes. The future seems too difficult for me.
I have been as happy as I could, and I feel that this summer, as last,
had I been with my country folks, the picture of Italy would not have
been so lively to me. Now I have been quite off the beaten track of
travel, have seen, thought, spoken, dreamed only what is Italian. I
have learned much, received many strong and clear impressions. While
among the mountains, I was for a good while quite alone, except for
occasional chat with the contadine, who wanted to know if Pius IX. was
not _un gran carbonaro!_--a reputation which he surely ought to have
forfeited by this time. About me they were disturbed: "_E sempre sola
soletta_," they said, "_eh perche?_"

Later, I made one of those accidental acquaintances, such as I have
spoken of to you in my life of Lombardy, which may be called romantic:
two brothers, elderly men, the last of a very noble family, formerly
lords of many castles, still of more than one; both unmarried, men of
great polish and culture. None of the consequences ensued that would
in romances: they did not any way adopt me, nor give me a casket of
diamonds