n these stately gardens, full of sculpture, and hear the
untiring music of the fountains.

Christmas-eve we went to the Annunziata, for midnight mass. Though the
service is not splendid here as in Rome, we yet enjoyed it;--sitting
in one of the side chapels, at the foot of a monument, watching
the rich crowds steal gently by, every eye gleaming, every gesture
softened by the influence of the pealing choir, and the hundred silver
lamps swinging their full light, in honor of the abused Emanuel.

But far finest was it to pass through the Duomo. No one was there.
Only the altars were lit up, and the priests, who were singing, could
not be seen by the faint light. The vast solemnity of the interior
is thus really felt. The hour was worthy of Brunelleschi. I hope he
walked there so. The Duomo is more divine than St. Peter's, and worthy
of genius pure and unbroken. St. Peter's is, like Rome, a mixture of
sublimest heaven with corruptest earth. I adore the Duomo, though no
place can now be to me like St. Peter's, where has been passed the
splendidest part of my life. My feeling was always perfectly regal, on
entering the piazza of St. Peter's. No spot on earth is worthier the
sunlight;--on none does it fall so fondly.

* * * * *

You ask me, how I employ myself here. I have been much engaged in
writing out my impressions, which will be of worth so far as correct.
I am anxious only to do historical justice to facts and persons; but
there will not, so far as I am aware, be much thought, for I believe
I have scarce expressed what lies deepest in my mind. I take no pains,
but let the good genius guide my pen. I did long to lead a simple,
natural life, _at home_, learning of my child, and writing only when
imperatively urged by the need of utterance; but when we were forced
to give up the hope of subsisting on a narrow independence, without
tie to the public, we gave up the peculiar beauty of our lives, and I
strive no more. I only hope to make good terms with the publishers.

Then, I have been occupied somewhat in reading Louis Blanc's Ten
Years, Lamartine's Girondists, and other books of that class, which
throw light on recent transactions.

I go into society, too, somewhat, and see several delightful persons,
in an intimate way. The Americans meet twice a week, at the house of
Messrs. Mozier and Chapman, and I am often present, on account of
the friendly interest of those resident here. With o