_Florence, Sept.,_ 1847.--I cannot even begin to speak of the
magnificent scenes of nature, nor the works of art, that have raised
and filled my mind since I wrote from Naples. Now I begin to be in
Italy! but I wish to drink deep of this cup before I speak my enamored
words. Enough to say, Italy receives me as a long-lost child, and I
feel myself at home here, and if I ever tell anything about it, you
will hear something real and domestic. Among strangers I wish most to
speak to you of my friend the Marchioness A. Visconti, a Milanese. She
is a specimen of the really high-bred lady, such as I have not known.
Without any physical beauty, the grace and harmony of her manners
produce all the impression of beauty. She has also a mind strong,
clear, precise, and much cultivated. She has a modest nobleness that
you would dearly love. She is intimate with many of the first men. She
seems to love me much, and to wish I should have whatever is hers. I
take great pleasure in her friendship.