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around the Piazza Navona is extremely interesting to the
antiquarian. It was the fashionable quarter several centuries
ago, and this fact, as proved by the stately dwellings still stand-
ing in 1856, shows that Papal Rome eclipsed at one time
all other European capitals in architectural magnificence.
The modernising of the city under the new regime may have caused
the distraction of some of those ancient landmarks.

Rome still was then the headquarters of picture dealers, and
the number of those sellers was very great. We examined the
wares of a good many and found the prices very high, so
that Allston, who wanted to carry away a few souvenirs in that
line, could only two little oil paintings. Each dealer, after
expatiating on the merits of the pictures in the front shop, would
mention rather mysteriously that he had an undoubted original
by one of the great masters in his back room. This was frequently
under glass, and, as a rule, was a good picture, but I was so
sceptical always with regard to such things that I was never
troubled with any desire to become a possessor.

I should have bought when in Rome at least a half dozen of
the best mosaics, as my father did in 1848, and the beautiful
shell cameo representing the chariot of the sun coming to
grief when a new driver took the reins, the original being a
bas-relief by the sculptor Gibson, of the colored Venus & Cupid,
ought to be in my possestion now. Its price was about 250
francs, and it was well worth it.

We befriended while there a young man from Augusta Ga named
Boggs who was improving himself in painting, and took him
with us on several excursions in the neighborhood. He had talent
but had not studied long enough to make his mark, and when
he returned he opened a studio in Charleston for one winter.
He took a few portraits and painted a little female head and
bust for me which I still have. He is a nephew of Mr Lewis
Robertson who has told me that he has finally abandoned
Art and taken to journalism.

Our evenings in Rome were rather dull, and we only went to the
opera once. Allston had a copy of Shakespeare and we would take
it by turns to read one of the tragedies. One evening we went to a
dancing saloon somewhat in the style of Cellarius in Paris, except
that the females of the company were of a better moral standard,
and we tripped the light fantastic for a couple of hours, conclud-
ing with a modest supper.

Among the artists whose studios we visited one named Cava
leri who I found out afterwards had painted in 1830 the family portraits
which we still have, with the scene in Rome. I complained to him
of his not having completed his work properly after my father had
left, he not being able to remain until it was entirely finished.
He had almost forgotten the picture, but admitted that I might be correct
and said that if we would send it back he would work at the unfinished parts