passing it, we saw an interminable line of tombs on both sides of the
way, each of which might, for aught I know, have been as massive as that
of Cecilia Metella, and some perhaps still more monstrously gigantic,
though now dilapidated and much reduced in size. Mrs. Jameson had an
engagement to dinner at half past six, so that we could go but a little
farther along this most interesting road, the borders of which are strewn
with broken marbles; fragments of capitals, and nameless rubbish that
once was beautiful. Methinks the Appian Way should be the only entrance
to Rome,--through an avenue of tombs.

The day had been cloudy, chill, and windy, but was now grown calmer and
more genial, and brightened by a very pleasant sunshine, though great
dark clouds were still lumbering up the sky. We drove homeward, looking
at the distant dome of St. Peter's and talking of many things,--painting,
sculpture, America, England, spiritualism, and whatever else came up.
She is a very sensible old lady, and sees a great deal of truth; a good
woman, too, taking elevated views of matters; but I doubt whether she has
the highest and finest perceptions in the world. At any rate, she
pronounced a good judgment on the American sculptors now in Rome,
condemning them in the mass as men with no high aims, no worthy
conception of the purposes of their art, and desecrating marble by the
things they wrought in it. William Story, I presume, is not to be
included in this censure, as she had spoken highly of his sculpturesque
faculty in our previous conversation. On my part, I suggested that the
English sculptors were little or nothing better than our own, to which
she acceded generally, but said that Gibson had produced works equal to
the antique,--which I did not dispute, but still questioned whether the
world needed Gibson, or was any the better for him. We had a great
dispute about the propriety of adopting the costume of the day in modern
sculpture, and I contended that either the art ought to be given up