f a mean and vindictive foe.
You felt so oppressed in the Slave States; imagine what I felt at
seeing all the noblest youth, all the genius of this dear land, again
enslaved!

* * * * *

TO HER MOTHER.

Florence, February 6, 1850.

Dearest Mother,--After receiving your letter of October, I answered
immediately; but as Richard mentions, in one dated December 4th, that
you have not heard, I am afraid, by some post-office mistake, it went
into the mail-bag of some sail-ship, instead of steamer, so you were
very long without hearing. I regret it the more, as I wanted so much
to respond fully to your letter,--so lovely, so generous, and which,
of all your acts of love, was perhaps the one most needed by me, and
which has touched me the most deeply.

I gave you in that a flattering picture of our life. And those
pleasant days lasted till the middle of December; but then came on
a cold unknown to Italy, and which has lasted ever since. As the
apartments were not prepared for such weather, we suffered a good
deal. Besides, both Ossoli and myself were taken ill at New-Year's
time, and were not quite well again, all January: now we are quite
well. The weather begins to soften, though still cloudy, damp, and
chilly, so that poor baby can go out very little; on that account he
does not grow so fast, and gets troublesome by evening, as he tires
of being shut up in two or three little rooms, where he has examined
every object hundreds of times. He is always pointing to the door. He
suffers much with chilblains, as do other children here; however, he
is, with that exception, in the best health, and is a great part of
the time very gay, laughing and dancing in the nurse-maid's arms, and
trying to sing and drum, in imitation of the bands, which play a great
deal in the Piazza.

Nothing special has happened to me. The uninhabitableness of the
rooms where I had expected to write, and the need of using our little
dining-room, the only one in which is a stove, for dressing baby,
taking care of him, eating, and receiving visits and messages, have
prevented my writing for six or seven weeks past. In the evening, when
baby went to bed, about eight, I began to have time, but was generally
too tired to do anything but read. The four hours, however, from nine
till one, beside the bright little fire, have been very pleasant. I
have thought of you a great deal, remembering how you suffer from cold
in the wint