MARGARET AND HER PEERS.

Pure and peaceful as was the joy of Margaret’s Florence winter, it was ensured and perfected by the fidelity of friends, who hedged around with honor the garden of her home.  She had been called to pass through a most trying ordeal, and the verdict of her peers was heightened esteem and love.  With what dignified gratitude she accepted this well-earned proof of confidence, will appear from the following extracts.

TO MRS. E.S.

Thus far, my friends have received news that must have been an unpleasant surprise to them, in a way that, a moi, does them great honor.  None have shown littleness or displeasure, at being denied my confidence while they were giving their own.  Many have expressed the warmest sympathy, and only one has shown a disposition to transgress the limit I myself had marked, and to ask questions.  With her, I think, this was because she was annoyed by what people said, and wished to be able to answer them.  I replied to her, that I had communicated already all I intended, and should not go into detail;—­that when unkind things were said about me, she should let them pass.  Will you, dear E——­, do the same?  I am sure your affection for me will prompt you to add, that you feel confident whatever I have done has been in a good spirit, and not contrary to my ideas of right.  For the rest, you will not admit for me,—­as I do not for myself,—­the rights of the social inquisition of the United States to know all the details of my affairs.  If my mother is content; if Ossoli and I are content; if our child, when grown up, shall be content; that is enough.  You and I know enough of the United States to be sure that many persons there will blame whatever is peculiar.  The lower-minded persons, everywhere, are sure to think that whatever is mysterious must be bad.  But I think there will remain for me a sufficient number of friends to keep my heart warm, and to help me earn my bread;—­that is all that is of any consequence.  Ossoli seems to me more lovely and good every day; our darling child is well now, and every day more gay and playful.  For his sake I shall have courage; and hope some good angel will show us the way out of our external difficulties.

TO W.W.S.

It was like you to receive with such kindness the news of my marriage.  A less generous person would have been displeased, that, when we had been drawn so together,—­when we had talked so freely, and you had shown towards me such sweet friendship,—­I had not told you.  Often did I long to do so, but I had, for reasons that seemed important, made a law to myself to keep this secret as rigidly as possible, up to a certain moment.  That moment came.  Its decisions were not such as I had hoped; but it left me, at least, without that painful burden, which