Edited by her Brother Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by ARTHUR B. FULLER, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts....

There are at least three classes of persons who travel in our own land and abroad. The first and largest in number consists of those who, "having eyes, see not, and ears, hear not," anything which is profitable to be remembered. Crossing lake and ocean, passing over the broad prairies of the New World or the classic fields of the Old, though they look on the virgin soil sown thickly with flowers by the hand of God, or on scenes memorable in man's history, they gaze heedlessly, and when they retu

Summer days of busy leisure, Long summer days of dear-bought pleasure, You have done your teaching well; Had the scholar means to tell How grew the vine of bitter-sweet, What made the path for truant feet, Winter nights would quickly pass, Gazing on the magic glass O'er which the new-world shadows pass. But, in fault of wizard spell, Moderns their tale can only tell In dull words, with a poor reed Breaking at each time of need. Yet those to whom a hint suffices Mottoes find for all devices, See

Ambleside, Westmoreland, 23d August, 1846. I take the first interval of rest and stillness to be filled up by some lines for the Tribune. Only three weeks have passed since leaving New York, but I have already had nine days of wonder in England, and, having learned a good deal, suppose I may have something to tell. Long before receiving this, you know that we were fortunate in the shortest voyage ever made across the Atlantic, I —only ten days and sixteen hours from Boston to Liverpool. The weat

Bellagio, Lake of Como, August, 1847. You do not deceive yourself surely about religion, in so far as that there is a deep meaning in those pangs of our fate which, if we live by faith, will become our most precious possession. "Live for thy faith and thou shalt yet behold it living," is with me, as it hath been, a maxim. Wherever I turn, I see still the same dark clouds, with occasional gleams of light. In this Europe how much suffocated life!—a sort of woe much less seen with us. I know many o

It seems proper that some account of the sad close of Madame Ossoli's earthly journeyings should be embodied in this volume recording her travels. But a brother's hand trembles even now and cannot write it. Noble, heroic, unselfish, Christian was that death, even as had been her life; but its outward circumstances were too painful for my pen to describe. Nor needs it,—for a scene like that must have impressed itself indelibly on those who witnessed it, and accurate and vivid have been their narr