GENEVRA;
OR, THE
HISTORY OF A PORTRAIT,
BY AN AMERICAN LADY.
A RESIDENT OF WASHINGTON CITY.
COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.
Philadelphia:
T. B. PETERSON, No. 98 CHESNUT STREET.
ONE DOOR ABOVE THIRD.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
T. B. PETERSON,
In the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United States,
in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
TO
MARIE DE CARVALLO,
MINISTERESS FROM CHILI;
AS A SLIGHT BUT SINCERE TOKEN OF ADMIRATION AND ESTEEM, THIS
WORK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, BY
THE AUTHOR.
“Clarence, my dear fellow, pray ring the bell, and let us knowwhen that confounded dinner will be ready; the carriage will be herebefore we are ready for a drive to the Campagna.”
I felt out of spirits and in an ill mood; but mechanically I rose andrang the bell. Our Italian attendant soon made his appearance.“Peppo,”—demanded my friend, the Hon. Augustus Morton, in amixture of bad Italian and French, which he had learned during ourtwo weeks’ sojourn at Rome,—“Peppo, when will dinner be ready?Don’t you know I told you this morning to prepare for us a niceEnglish dinner, and have it early too?”
“Si Signor,” replied Peppo, standing with his toes bent in, twistinga dirty velvet cap in his hand, ornamented round the edge with tarnishedgilt lace, “ma Signor Inglese, say cinque bra, non rolamenteche tre ora adesso.”
“O, it’s only three, eh—how came I to make such a mistake?”He looked at his watch: it had stopped. “Well, Peppo,” he continued,in Italian, “can’t you tell them to hurry their operations, andlet us have our dinner now. We have an engagement. Go and seeif they cannot serve it at once.”
Peppo made his obeisance, and disappeared through the low,narrow door. “It is unfortunate that I did not think to set the time.We need not have returned from Tivoli for an hour.”
“I am not at all sorry, for my part,” I rejoined. “I take but littleinterest in broken columns, decayed monuments, and old ruins, places[10]of assignations for owls and bats; in fact, one half the persons whovisit Rome care no more about these remains of Rome’s ancientgrandeur than the doves who make their nests amid the ruins. Ithas become fashionable of late years to visit Rome, and carry homefrom the city a collection of antique relics, busts, and every varietyof curiosities, all of which are treasured as rare trophies of travel inclassic land; a feeling I cannot at all sympathize with. You have theenthusiasm of the grandeur of Rome almost entirely to yourself, myfriend. I assure you I have had but few attacks of the fashionableepidemic since my a