Lombards,
are the flower of the Italian youth. When they begin to get better, I
carry them books and flowers; they read, and we talk.

The palace of the Pope, on the Quirinal, is now used for
convalescents. In those beautiful gardens, I walk with them,--one with
his sling, another with his crutch. The gardener plays off all his
water-works for the defenders of the country, and gathers flowers for
me, their friend.

A day or two since, we sat in the Pope's little pavilion, where he
used to give private audience. The sun was going gloriously down over
Monte Mario, where gleamed the white tents of the French light-horse
among the trees. The cannonade was heard at intervals. Two bright-eyed
boys sat at our feet, and gathered up eagerly every word said by the
heroes of the day. It was a beautiful hour, stolen from the midst of
ruin and sorrow; and tales were told as full of grace and pathos as in
the gardens of Boccaccio, only in a very different spirit,--with noble
hope for man, with reverence for woman.

The young ladies of the family, very young girls, were filled with
enthusiasm for the suffering, wounded patriots, and they wished to
go to the hospital to give their services. Excepting the three
superintendents, none but married ladies were permitted to serve
there, but their services were accepted. Their governess then wished
to go too, and, as she could speak several languages, she was admitted
to the rooms of the wounded soldiers, to interpret for them, as the
nurses knew nothing but Italian, and many of these poor men were
suffering, because they could not make their wishes known. Some are
French, some German, and many Poles. Indeed, I am afraid it is too
true that there were comparatively but few Romans among them. This
young lady passed several nights there.

Should I never return,--and sometimes I despair of doing so, it seems
so far off, so difficult, I am caught in such a net of ties here,--if
ever you know of my life here, I think you will only wonder at the
constancy with which I have sustained myself; the degree of profit to
which, amid great difficulties, I have put the time, at least in the
way of observation. Meanwhile, love me all you can; let me feel, that,
amid the fearful agitations of the world, there are pure hands, with
healthful, even pulse, stretched out toward me, if I claim their
grasp.

I feel profoundly for Mazzini; at moments I am tempted to say, "Cursed
with every granted prayer,"--s