It was so pleasant at Perugia!  The pure mountain air is such perfect elixir, the walks are so beautiful on every side, and there is so much to excite generous and consoling feelings!  I think the works of the Umbrian school are never well seen except in their home;—­they suffer by comparison with works more rich in coloring, more genial, more full of common life.  The depth and tenderness of their expression is lost on an observer stimulated to a point out of their range.  Now, I can prize them.  We went every morning to some church rich in pictures, returning at noon for breakfast.  After breakfast, we went into the country, or to sit and read under the trees near San Pietro.  Thus I read Nicolo di’ Lapi, a book unenlivened by a spark of genius, but interesting, to me, as illustrative of Florence.

Our little boy gained strength rapidly there;—­every day he was able to go out with us more.  He is now full of life and gayety.  We hope he will live, and grow into a stout man yet.

Our journey here was delightful;—­it is the first time I have seen Tuscany when the purple grape hangs garlanded from tree to tree.  We were in the early days of the vintage:  the fields were animated by men and women, some of the latter with such pretty little bare feet, and shy, soft eyes, under the round straw hat.  They were beginning to cut the vines, but had not done enough to spoil any of the beauty.

Here, too, I feel better pleased than ever before.  Florence seems so cheerful and busy, after ruined Rome, I feel as if I could forget the disasters of the day, for a while, in looking on the treasures she inherits.

* * * * *

To-day we have been out in the country, and found a little chapel, full of contadine, their lovers waiting outside the door.  They looked charming in their black veils,—­the straw hat hanging on the arm,—­with shy, glancing eyes, and cheeks pinched rosy by the cold; for it is cold here as in New England.  On foot, we have explored a great part of the environs; and till now I had no conception of their beauty.  When here before, I took only the regular drives, as prescribed for all lady and gentlemen travellers.  This evening we returned by a path that led to the banks of the Arno.  The Duomo, with the snowy mountains, were glorious in the rosy tint and haze, just before sunset.  What a difference it makes to come home to a child!—­how it fills up all the gaps of life, just in the way that is most consoling, most refreshing!  Formerly, I used to feel sad at that hour; the day had not been nobly spent, I had not done my duty to myself and others, and I felt so lonely!  Now I never feel lonely; for, even if my little boy dies, our souls will remain eternally united.  And I feel infinite hope for him,—­hope that he will serve God and man more loyally than I have done; and, seeing how full he is of life,—­how much he can afford to throw away,—­I feel the inexhaustibleness of nature, and console myself for my own incapacities.