th marks of service on it, and more recent and
obtrusive trace of long disuse.

In one of the first days of my search for a studio I had found and
inspected this very place, but it had given me such a disagreeable
feeling--it had seemed so worn out, so full of relics of other
people--that I could not make up my mind to take it. After a thorough
search and diligent inquiry, however, I came to the conclusion that
there was absolutely no other place in Rome at that busy season where I
could set up my easel, and after having the place recommended to me by
all the artists I called upon as a well-known and useful studio, and a
great find at the busy season of the year, I took a lease of the place
for four months.

My friend and I moved in at the same time, and I will not deny that I
planned to be supported by the presence of my friend at the moment of
taking possession. When we arrived and had our traps all deposited in
the middle of the studio, there came over the spirits of us both a
strange gloom, which the bustle and confusion of settling did not in the
least dispel. It was nearly dark that winter afternoon before we had
finished unpacking, and the street lights were burning before we reached
the little restaurant in the Via Quattro Fontano, where we proposed to
take our meals. There was a cheerful company of artists and architects
assembled there that evening, and we sat over our wine long after
dinner. When the jolly party at last dispersed, it was well past
midnight.

How gloomy the outer portal of the high building looked as we crossed
the dimly lighted street and pushed open the black door! A musty, damp
smell, like the atmosphere of the catacombs, met us as we entered. Our
footsteps echoed loud and hollow in the empty corridor, and the large
wax match I struck as we came in gave but a flickering light, which
dimly shadowed the outline of the stone stairway, and threw the rest of
the corridor into a deep and mysterious gloom. We tramped up the five
long flights of stone stairs without a word, the echo of our footsteps
sounding louder and louder, and the murky space behind us deepening into
the damp darkness of a cavern. At last, after what seemed an
interminable climb, we came to the studio entrance. I put the large key
in the lock, turned it, and pushed open the door. A strong draught, like
the lifeless breath from the mouth of a tunnel, extinguished the match
and left us in darkness. I hesitated an instant, inst