by the noble figure of her Zenobia. This figure I saw in clay
in her studio during our second season in Rome. Miss Hosmer's talk
was quick, witty, and pointed; her big eyes redeemed her round,
small-featured face from triviality; her warm heart glowed through
all she said and did. Her studio was a contrast to the classicality of
Gibson's, whose influence, though she had studied under him during her
six years' residence in Rome, had affected her technique only, not her
conceptions or aims in art. We all liked her much. She was made known to
us, I believe, through the medium of grave, wise, humorous Sarah Clarke,
the sister of the James Freeman Clarke who married my mother to my
father, and who, twenty-two years later, read over my father the burial
service. Sarah Clarke was often abroad; she was herself an admirable
artist in water-color, and was always a dear friend of my mother's.
After we had returned to Concord, in 1860, Miss Hosmer wrote to us, and
one of her letters has been preserved; I quote it, because it is like
her:

"MY DEAR MRS. HAWTHORNE,--It is not unlikely that you may be somewhat
surprised to hear from me; but after you have received the four dozen
letters which, sooner or later, I intend writing you, you will cease to
be so. I begin at the present moment with the first of the forty-eight,
partly for business and partly for pleasure. Reversing, then, the
order of things which some unknown but well-regulated-minded individual
considered to be correct, I will go in for pleasure first, under which
head I seek information respecting the health and well-being of all
members of your family. It seems cruel that you should go off to the
glorious Republic when there are other places in Rome besides the Piazza
Poli. Now that you are safely out of it, I must try to persuade you that
it was the most unhealthy place in the whole city, not only because
I really believe it to be so, but that malaria may not be mingled and
cherished with every remembrance of this delicious, artistic, fleay,
malarious paradise. But I suppose little short of a miracle would
transport you here again, not only because Una is probably becoming
the size of Daniel Lambert, in her native air, but because Julian is
probably weaving a future President's chair out of the rattans he is
getting at school. However that may be, the result is the same, I fear,
as to your getting back to the Gods and the Fleas; and I must look
forward to a meeting in A