artists from all peoples of the world, Scandinavians, Russians, Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen, Americans, and many others. Amongst all the affluence of ancient and modern art, one should run the risk of having a surfeit—may I be forgiven the expression—of the fine arts, if one did not resolve to enjoy them, as our Swedish maid-servants say, “bit by bit.” This is how I determined to do, and what I shall accomplish, as I have several months before me.
Within these few days we have visited two studios; first that of the German artist, R. Lehman; afterwards those of the Italian sculptors, Giacometti and Teverani.
I had already become acquainted with Rudolf Lehman, as an interesting man in society, and heard him spoken of as one of the first genre-painters in Rome. His pictures evidence great talent, and a thorough conception of the subject which he handles. Two of these especially interested me,—the Light-side and the Night-side of Italian life. In the one, you see a young Italian girl, with a dreamy, summer-warm expression, sitting with a basket brim-full of doves. Her glance testifies to a rich inner life, but which is still undeveloped. In the north, such a soul would have something restless or savage about it. The daughter of the south, nourished by the fruits of the earth, by the warmth of the sun, by the deliciousness of the air and the sky—as her yearnings lulled to a quiet pensiveness. She anticipates and she dreams—till the time comes. The second picture shows us an aged woman with two quite young children. One can see that she has been handsome—quite as handsome as
