_Rome, Dec_. 16, 1847.--My life at Rome is thus far all I hoped.
I have not been so well since I was a child, nor so happy ever, as
during the last six weeks. I wrote you about my home; it continues
good, perfectly clean, food wholesome, service exact. For all this I
pay, but not immoderately. I think the sum total of my expenses here,
for six months, will not exceed four hundred and fifty dollars.
My _marchesa_, of whom I rent my rooms, is the greatest liar I ever
knew, and the most interested, heartless creature. But she thinks it
for her interest to please me, as she sees I have a good many persons
who value me; and I have been able, without offending her, to make it
understood that I do not wish her society. Thus I remain undisturbed.
Every Monday evening, I receive my acquaintance. I give no
refreshment, but only light the saloon, and decorate it with fresh
flowers, of which I have plenty still. How I wish _you_ could see
them!
Among the frequent guests are known to you Mr. and Mrs. Cranch, Mr.
and Mrs. Story. Mr. S. has finally given up law, for the artist's
life. His plans are not matured, but he passes the winter at Rome.
On other evenings, I do not receive company, unless by appointment. I
spend them chiefly in writing or study. I have now around me the books
I need to know Italy and Rome. I study with delight, now that I can
verify everything. The days are invariably fine, and each day I am out
from eleven till five, exploring some new object of interest, often at
a great distance.