hich these collections were at first contained, made a favorite place of meeting for Margaret and a few of her friends, who were lovers of these works.
First led perhaps by Goethe, afterwards by the love she herself conceived for them, she read everything that related to Michel Angelo and Raphael.
She read, pen in hand, Quatremere de Quincy's lives of those two painters, and I have her transcripts and commentary before me. She read Condivi, Vasari, Benvenuto Cellini, Duppa, Fuseli, and Von Waagen,—great and small.
Every design of Michel, the four volumes of Raphael's designs, were in the rich portfolios of her most intimate friend.
I have been very happy, she writes,
with four hundred and seventy designs of Raphael in my possession for a week.
These fine entertainments were shared with many admirers, and, as I now remember them, certain months about the years 1839, 1840, seem colored with the genius of these Italians.
Our walls were hung with prints of the Sistine fres