Next to the Cenci a St. Francis hangs, his hands devoutly folded and his head bowed in pious meditation upon the sufferings of his Redeemer, whose figure bound upon the Cross lies before him. The skull at his feet and the dreary landscape surrounding him indicate his hermit-life of isolation and penance. The Saint is dressed in the coarse brown habit of a mendicant friar, and his face is luminous with that gentleness that distinguished his character after his conversion; for it is recorded of him that he would step aside rather than harm the smallest insect. Above St. Francis is one of the most precious gems, historically and intrinsically considered, of the collection. The picture is small--only cabinet size; but it is none the less valuable on that account, when we reflect that it dates from the sixteenth or early in the seventeenth century. It is a portrait of Galileo painted from life by Andrea Bartone, and was bought at a sale of the Santi Gallery. Only the head and bust are represented--the latter clothed in a dark-brown open vest, with a scarlet mantle thrown over the shoulders; but the face is one that would not easily be forgotten--a rugged, powerful face, with great, earnest eyes, scant hair well sprinkled with gray, and deep furrows lining the dark brow. Over the doorway, opening into the room that was formerly Aunt Mary's, is an antique marble medallion of Juno, the haughty Mother of the gods; this was dug up near Tusculum. Next comes an exquisite Madonna and Child by Carlo Dolce (a copy). The mother's face is youthful and radiant with divine beauty: the Infant Jesus stands upon her knee, and extends a plump little hand in benediction. Next, a portrait of uncle painted in 1839--two years earlier than the one that hangs in the dining-room. This picture, mamma says, was an excellent likeness of him when he was twenty-eight years old; and the biographers who are so prone to describe him in his younger days as having been "uncouth" and "awkward," would be, I think, much startled if they could see it. His coat is black, with a black tie, like other gentlemen, and his air, instead of being "rustic" or "gawky," is expressive of gentle dignity, while his face, so often described as plain, is to me beautiful enough to have represented a young saint. Next these pictures is another medallion--the "Mother of the Gracchi," and under them a small table upon which stand several marble curiosities: a model of the tomb of Scipio, Minerva issuing from the head of Jupiter, and two busts of Roman soldiers in the time of Titus--antiques, and quite yellow and valuable. In the centre of the parlor is a round table bought in Rome, and made of variegated marble taken from the ruins of the palace of the Caesars. In a corner, upon a handsome pedestal, stands Powers' bust of Proserpine, of which uncle was especially proud. He speaks of it in his "Glances at Europe," in these words: