Mrs. Jameson seems to be
familiar with Italy, its people and life, as well as with its
picture-galleries. She is said to be rather irascible in her temper; but
nothing could be sweeter than her voice, her look, and all her
manifestations to-day. When we were coming away she clasped my hand in
both of hers, and again expressed the pleasure of having seen me, and her
gratitude to me for calling on her; nor did I refrain from responding
Amen to these effusions. . . . .
Taking leave of Mrs. Jameson, we drove through the city, and out of the
Lateran Gate; first, however, waiting a long while at Monaldini's
bookstore in the Piazza de' Spagna for Mr. Story, whom we finally took up
in the street, after losing nearly an hour.
Just two miles beyond the gate is a space on the green campagna where,
for some time past, excavations have been in progress, which thus far
have resulted in the discovery of several tombs, and the old, buried, and
almost forgotten church or basilica of San Stefano. It is a beautiful
spot, that of the excavations, with the Alban hills in the distance, and
some heavy, sunlighted clouds hanging above, or recumbent at length upon
them, and behind the city and its mighty dome.
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