I will not name the place, but I will describe it.  The rooms are spacious and airy; the loggia of the sleeping room is rude, but it overhangs a lovely little river, with its hedge of willows.  Opposite is a large and rich vineyard; on one side a ruined tower, on the other an old casino, with its avenues of cypress, give human interest to the scene.  A cleft amid the mountains full of light leads on the eye to a soft blue peak, very distant.  At night the young moon trembles in the river, and its soft murmur soothes me to sleep; it needs, for I have had lately a bad attack upon the nerves, and been obliged to stop writing for the present.  I think I shall stay here some time, though I suppose there are such sweet places all over Italy, if one only looks for one’s self.  Poor, beautiful Italy! how she has been injured of late!  It is dreadful to see the incapacity and meanness of those to whom she had confided the care of her redemption.

I have thus far passed this past month of fine weather most delightfully in revisiting my haunts of the autumn before.  Then, too, I was uncommonly well and strong; it was the golden period of my Roman life.  The experience what long confinement may be expected after, from the winter rains, has decided me never to make my hay when the sun shines:  i.e., to give no fine day to books and pens.

The places of interest I am nearest now are villas Albani and Ludovisi, and Santa Agnese, St. Lorenzo, and the vineyards near Porta Maggiore.  I have passed one day in a visit to Torre dei Schiavi and the neighborhood, and another on Monte Mario, both Rome and the Campagna-day golden in the mellowest lustre of the Italian sun. * * * But to you I may tell, that I always go with Ossoli, the most congenial companion I ever had for jaunts of this kind.  We go out in the morning, carrying the roast chestnuts from Rome; the bread and wine are found in some lonely little osteria; and so we dine; and reach Rome again, just in time to see it, from a little distance, gilded by the sunset.

This moon having been so clear, and the air so warm, we have visited, on successive evenings, all the places we fancied:  Monte Cavallo, now so lonely and abandoned,—­no lights there but moon and stars,—­Trinita de’ Monti, Santa Maria Maggiore, and the Forum.  So now, if the rain must come, or I be driven from Rome, I have all the images fair and fresh in my mind.

About public events, why remain ignorant?  Take a daily paper in the house.  The Italian press has recovered from the effervescence of childish spirits;—­you can now approximate to the truth from its reports.  There are many good papers now in Italy.  Whatever represents the Montanelli ministry is best for you.  That gives the lead now.  I see good articles copied from the “Alba.”

TO MADAME ARCONATI.