endure to think yet
of our future. Too much have we suffered already, trying to command
it. I do not feel force to make any effort yet. I suppose that very
soon now I must do something, and hope I shall feel able when the time
comes. My constitution seems making an effort to rally, by dint of
much sleep. I had slept so little, for a year and a half, and, after
the birth of the child, I had such anxiety and anguish when separated
from him, that I was consumed as by nightly fever. The last two
months at Rome would have destroyed almost any woman. Then, when I
went to him, he was so ill, and I was constantly up with him at night,
carrying him about. Now, for two months, we have been tranquil. We
have resolved to enjoy being together as much as we can, in this brief
interval,--perhaps all we shall ever know of peace. It is very sad we
have no money, we could be so quietly happy a while. I rejoice in
all Ossoli did; but the results, in this our earthly state, are
disastrous, especially as my strength is now so impaired. This much I
hope, in life or death, to be no more separated from Angelino.

Last winter, I made the most vehement efforts at least to redeem the
time, hoping thus good for the future. But, of at least two volumes
written at that time, no line seems of any worth. I had suffered much
constraint,--much that was uncongenial, harassing, even torturing,
before; but this kind of pain found me unprepared;--the position of a
mother separated from her only child is too frightfully unnatural.

* * * * *

The Christmas holidays interest me now, through my child, as they
never did for myself. I like to go out to watch the young generation
who will be his contemporaries. On Monday, we went to the _Caseine_.
After we had taken the drive, we sat down on a stone seat in the sunny
walk, to see the people pass;--the Grand Duke and his children;
the elegant Austrian officers, who will be driven out of Italy when
Angelino is a man; Princess Demidoff; Harry Lorrequer; an absurd brood
of fops; many lovely children; many little frisking dogs, with their
bells, &c. The sun shone brightly on the Arno; a barque moved gently
by; all seemed good to the baby. He laid himself back in my arms,
smiling, singing to himself, and dancing his feet. I hope he will
retain some trace in his mind of the perpetual exhilarating picture of
Italy. It cannot but be important in its influence while yet a child,
to walk i