It is only since I have had
my own child that I have known how much I always failed to do what I
might have done for the happiness of you both; only since I have
seen so much of men and their trials, that I have learned to prize my
father as he deserved; only since I have had a heart daily and hourly
testifying to me its love, that I have understood, too late, what it
was for you to be deprived of it. It seems to me as if I had never
sympathized with you as I ought, or tried to embellish and sustain
your life, as far as is possible, after such an irreparable wound.
It will be sad for me to leave Italy, uncertain of return. Yet when
I think of you, beloved mother; of brothers and sisters, and many
friends, I wish to come. Ossoli is perfectly willing. He leaves in
Rome a sister, whom he dearly loves. His aunt is dying now. He will
go among strangers; but to him, as to all the young Italians, America
seems the land of liberty. He hopes, too, that a new revolution will
favor return, after a number of years, and that then he may find
really a home in Italy. All this is dark;--we can judge only for the
present moment. The decision will rest with me, and I shall wait
till the last moment, as I always do, that I may have all the reasons
before me.
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