that much is developing itself within my own soul, which formerly lay bound, or merely lived with a half-existence; and I thank God!
December.—I have now resided nearly three weeks in this good home, with these kind and good S.'s, and seen a good deal of the people and of the city, as well as of the beautiful region around this place. The country is of the most beautiful and of the most attractive character that any one can imagine; lovely villas are scattered over the fertile hills, and commanding the most glorious views over the river and the whole country. The people, yes—they are even here of all sorts, the good and the bad, the agreeable and the disagreeable; some most amiable, with whom one would wish to remain long, to remain always, and others whom one would wish—where the pepper grows. Yet the greater number whom I have seen, belong to the good and charming, and I have enjoyed much happiness with them.
I saw three young brides at a bridal party the other day, all of them very handsome, one remarkably so, for a beautiful soul beamed in her countenance. I said to her with my whole heart, “God bless you!” I saw on this occasion many beautiful toilettes, and many beautiful faces. The American ladies dress well and with good taste. And here indeed one seems to meet nothing but handsome faces, scarcely a countenance which may be called ugly. Yet, nevertheless, I think it would be a refreshment to see such a one, if in it I found that beauty which seems to me generally, not always, to be deficient in these truly lovely human roses, and which I may compare to the dewy rose-bud in its morning hour. There is a deficiency of shadow, of repose, of the mystery of being, of that nameless, innermost depth, which attracts the mind with a silent power in the consciousness of hidden and noble treasure. There is a deficiency of that quiet grace of being, which in itself alone is
