had been cherished." Both in France and
Italy, she saw most of the noted men, literary
and scientific, and discoursed with them,
freely, in their own tongue. In Rome, she
wrote, with outrageous modesty, " Among
the famous women, I find none with so
comprehensive a head, or such fine instincts,
as I."

"We can afford to see the little weaknesses
in Margaret Fuller's character. As we draw
near the end of her brief career, we find them
cast into the proper shade by her untiring
energy and undoubted genius. Very touching
is the account she has written of her youth—
her childish reflexions when the shadow of
death first darkened their household—and
that singularly early application to study,
and severe discipline, which contributed to
form a character so peculiar. She was in
Rome in the midst of the revolutionary scenes
of 1848—during the murder of Count Rossi,
and expulsion of the Pope, and while cries
of " Morte ai Cardinali! " " Morte ai
Jesuiti! " were loudest and most earnest. From
the window of her loggia she witnessed the
famous sortie of Garibaldi, when the French
were driven back with the loss of a thousand
men. It was on a Sunday. The French threw
rockets into the city, one of which burst in
the courtyard of the hospital, just as she
arrived there, to fulfil her duties as Regolatrice,
or attendant upon the wounded; for
which office she had volunteered her services.
She went daily to the hospital, and though
she suffered—for she had no idea, before, how
terrible were gunshot wounds and wound-
fever—she found a pleasure in her task.
Many of the sufferers, especially among the
Lombards, were among the flower of the
Italian youth. As they began to get better,
she carried them books and flowers, and they
read and talked together.

During the siege of three months, she
remained shut up in the city; for she had now
other ties to bind her to Rome. An Italian
nobleman, the Marquis D'Ossoli, had met her
by chance in the Church of St. Peter's, in the
spring of 1847: an accident brought them
into conversation. Margaret had become
separated from her friends in the Church;
and the Marquis, seeing her to be a foreigner,
volunteered to assist in her search. Her
friends were gone, no vehicle was at hand,
and she was compelled to walk with her
stranger friend a long distance. Their words
were few, though enough to create a desire
for further acquaintance. They parted at
the door, and Margaret related the adventure
to her friends. The chance meeting at
Vespers in St. Peter's paved the way for
many interviews; and, finally, Ossoli offered
her his hand; but Margaret refused it, and
departed, soon after, for Venice. Upon her
return to Rome, however, their acquaintance
was renewed. The family of Ossoli were
strictly conservative, and the lover had been
educated in their principles; but, for
Margaret's sake, he espoused the cause of Roman
liberty. From this time they became the closest
friends, often making little excursions out of
Rome together. Carrying with them some
roasted chestnuts, they got bread and wine,
and dined, in pastoral fashion, at some rustic
inn—coming back sometimes in time to see
the sun going down behind the towers of the
city. They were soon afterwards married
secretly. D'Ossoli became one of the most
active defenders of Rome, occupying with his
men a dangerous place upon the walls.
Margaret continued her consolations to the
wounded; attending daily at the hospitals
for seven or eight hours—often the entire night
—until she herself lay on a bed of sickness,
and was thought to be near her death. Yet
she never flinched: " Though sometimes," she
says, " I found myself inferior in courage and
fortitude to the occasion. I knew not how to
bear the havoc and anguish incident to the
struggle for these principles. I rejoiced that
it lay not with me to cut down the trees, to
destroy the Elysian garden, for the defence of
the city; I do not know that I could have
done it. And the sight of these far nobler
growths, the beautiful young men, mown,
down in their stately prime, became too much
for me. I forgot the great ideas—to
sympathise with the poor mothers. You say I
have sustained them. Often have they
sustained my courage: one, kissing the pieces of
bone that were so painfully extracted from
his arm, hung them round his neck—
mementoes that he also has done and borne
something for his country and the hopes of
humanity. One fair young man, who is made
a cripple for life, clasped my hand as he saw
me crying over the spasms I could not
relieve—and faintly cried, ' Viva l'Italia! ' "
During the most dangerous times of the
bombardment, Margaret was constantly to
and fro in the streets of the city, visiting
friends, collecting information, and
sometimes interposing in quarrels between the
people and the soldiery, and calming the
most infuriated.

Impoverished by political events, Margaret
and her husband fled from Rome, on the
entrance of the French, to Rieti, in the
Apennines, where their child had been
deposited for safety previously to the siege.
The winter she spent peacefully in Florence,
with her husband and child.

Disheartened by the aspect of political
affairs in Europe, Margaret now wished to
return to America. Considerations of economy
determined them, in spite of misgivings, to
take a passage in a merchantman from
Leghorn. Many omens seemed to dissuade
her from her purpose—for she was anxious
for her child's sake; but they set sail.
They were swept tranquilly over the smooth
waters of the Mediterranean; but, before
they reached Gibraltar, the captain of their
vessel was taken ill, and died. The authorities
at that port refused permission for