figured a stormy day of life for Margaret. But there
was yet to be a serene and glowing hour before the sun went down.
Angelo grew strong and lively once more; rest and peace restored her
elasticity of spirit, and extracts from various letters will show in
what tranquil blessedness, the autumn and winter glided by. After a
few weeks' residence at Rieti, the happy three journeyed on, by way
of Perugia, to Florence, where they arrived at the end of September.
Thence, Margaret writes:--

It was so pleasant at Perugia! The pure mountain air is such perfect
elixir, the walks are so beautiful on every side, and there is so much
to excite generous and consoling feelings! I think the works of the
Umbrian school are never well seen except in their home;--they suffer
by comparison with works more rich in coloring, more genial, more full
of common life. The depth and tenderness of their expression is lost
on an observer stimulated to a point out of their range. Now, I can
prize them. We went every morning to some church rich in pictures,
returning at noon for breakfast. After breakfast, we went into the
country, or to sit and read under the trees near San Pietro. Thus I
read Nicolo di' Lapi, a book unenlivened by a spark of genius, but
interesting, to me, as illustrative of Florence.

Our little boy gained strength rapidly there;--every day he was able
to go out with us more. He is now full of life and gayety. We hope he
will live, and grow into a stout man yet.

Our journey here was delightful;--it is the first time I have seen
Tuscany when the purple grape hangs garlanded from tree to tree. We
were in the early days of the vintage: the fields were animated by men
and women, some of the latter with such pretty little bare feet, and
shy, soft eyes, under the round straw hat. They were beginning to cut
the vines, but had not done enough to spoil any of the beauty.

Here, too, I feel better pleased than ever before. Florence seems so
cheerful and busy, after ruined Rome, I feel as if I could forget the
disasters of the day, for a while, in looking on the treasures she
inherits.

* * * * *

To-day we have been out in the country, and found a little chapel,
full of _contadine,_ their lovers waiting outside the door. They
looked charming in their black veils,--the straw hat hanging on the
arm,--with shy, glancing eyes, and cheeks pinched rosy by the cold;
for it is cold here as in New England. On f