I forgot to mention one little thing rather interesting.  At the Miserere of the Sistine chapel, I sat beside Goethe’s favorite daughter-in-law, Ottilia, to whom I was introduced by Mrs. Jameson.

TO R.F.F.

Florence, July 1, 1847.—­I do not wish to go through Germany in a hurried way, and am equally unsatisfied to fly through Italy; and shall, therefore, leaving my companions in Switzerland, take a servant to accompany me, and return hither, and hence to Rome for the autumn, perhaps the winter.  I should always suffer the pain of Tantalus thinking of Rome, if I could not see it more thoroughly than I have as yet even begun to; for it was all outside the two months, just finding out where objects were.  I had only just begun to know them, when I was obliged to leave.  The prospect of returning presents many charms, but it leaves me alone in the midst of a strange land.

I find myself happily situated here, in many respects.  The Marchioness Arconati Visconti, to whom I brought a letter from a friend of hers in France, has been good to me as a sister, and introduced me to many interesting acquaintance.  The sculptors, Powers and Greenough, I have seen much and well.  Other acquaintance I possess, less known to fame, but not less attractive.

Florence is not like Rome.  At first, I could not bear the change; yet, for the study of the fine arts, it is a still richer place.  Worlds of thought have risen in my mind; some time you will have light from all.

* * * * *

Milan, Aug. 9, 1847.—­Passing from Florence, I came to Bologna.  A woman should love Bologna, for there has the intellect of woman been cherished.  In their Certosa, they proudly show the monument to Matilda Tambreni, late Greek professor there.  In their anatomical hall, is the bust of a woman, professor of anatomy.  In art, they have had Properzia di Rossi, Elisabetta Sirani, Lavinia Fontana, and delight to give their works a conspicuous place.  In other cities, the men alone have their Casino dei Nobili, where they give balls and conversazioni.  Here, women have one, and are the soul of society.  In Milan, also, I see, in the Ambrosian Library, the bust of a female mathematician.

TO HER MOTHER.

Lago di Garda, Aug. 1, 1847.—­Do not let what I have written disturb you as to my health.  I have rested now, and am as well as usual.  This advantage I derive from being alone, that, if I feel the need of it, I can stop.

I left Venice four days ago; have seen well Vicenza, Verona, Mantua, and am reposing, for two nights and a day, in this tranquil room which overlooks the beautiful Lake of Garda.  The air is sweet and pure, and I hear no noise except the waves breaking on the shore.

I think of you a great deal, especially when there are flowers.  Florence was all flowers.  I have many magnolias and jasmines.  I always wish you could see them.  The other day, on the island of San Lazaro, at the Armenian Convent, where Lord Byron used to go, I thought of you, seeing the garden full of immense oleanders in full bloom.  One sees them everywhere at Venice.