Ossoli wishes you were here, almost as much as I. When there is
anything really lovely and tranquil, he often says, "Would not '_La
Madre_' like that?" He wept when he heard your letter. I never saw
him weep at any other time, except when his father died, and when the
French entered Rome. He has, I think, even a more holy feeling about
a mother, from having lost his own, when very small. It has been a
life-long want with him. He often shows me a little scar on his face,
made by a jealous dog, when his mother was caressing him as an infant.
He prizes that blemish much.
* * * * *
_Florence, December_ 1, 1849.--I do not know what to write about the
baby, he changes so much,--has so many characters. He is like me in
that, for his father's character is simple and uniform, though not
monotonous, any more than are the flowers of spring flowers of the
valley. Angelino is now in the most perfect rosy health,--a very gay,
impetuous, ardent, but sweet-tempered child. He seems to me to have
nothing in common with his first babyhood, with its ecstatic smiles,
its exquisite sensitiveness, and a distinction in the gesture and
attitudes that struck everybody.
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