own that there are few worthy, and that I am one of the least.
A silken glove might be as good a gauntlet as one of steel, but I, infirm of mood, turn sick even now as I think of the past.
July, 1849. — I cannot tell you what I endured in
leaving Rome; abandoning the wounded soldiers; knowing
that there is no provision made for them, when they
rise from the beds where they have been thrown by a
noble courage, where they have suffered with a noble
patience. Some of the poorer men, who rise bereft even
of the right arm, — one having lost both the right arm
and the right leg, — I could have provided for with a
small sum. Could I have sold my hair, or blood from
my arm, I would have done it. Had any of the rich
Americans remained in Rome, they would have given it
to me; they helped nobly at first, in the service of the
hospitals, when there was far less need; but they had
all gone. What would I have given that I could have
spoken to one of the Lawrences, or the Phillipses; they
could and would have saved the misery. These poor
men are left helpless in the power of 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 W. H. C.
Rieti, Aug. 28, 1849. — You say, you are glad I have had this great opportunity for carrying out my principles. Would it were so! I found myself inferior in courage and fortitude to the occasion. I knew not how
