CHAPTER VIII.

TRIESTE LIFE AGAIN.

1881.

Early this year two sad things happened, which interested Richard very much—the death of Carlyle, 5th of February, with all the different opinions expressed at the time; the disappearance of the Rev. Benjamin Speke; and a third was the annexation of Tunis through the medium of our former colleague at Damascus, Monsieur Roustan.

On the 3rd of February we had a very bad earthquake, and if I may quote it as a proof of animals having some knowledge of what is coming, the dog, a large setter, who slept in our rooms, sprang suddenly into our beds, and insisted on getting under the clothes. We were rather frightened, and thought he had gone mad. Richard opened the door, and ordered him to go into the passage; he obeyed, but whined his objections. Two minutes after, we were shaken by an earthquake; so we jumped up and ran to the door and let him in, because we knew what was the matter with him—he looked awfully scared.

We made a day or two's excursion to Monfalcone, and then H.M.S. Iris, Captain (now Admiral) Seymour, came in to meet the Ambassador, Mr. Goschen. We went down to join him in receiving Mr. Goschen, and the Iris started at once for Constantinople.

On the 10th H.I.H. Prince Rudolf came to Trieste to start for the East. Later I had the honour of receiving a telegram from Prince Rudolf to thank me for my "Inner Life of Syria," which he found very useful in his travels in the East.

We went to a village ball at Opçina, which was very amusing. Baron Morpurgo this month gave a grand ball in honour of H.I.H. the Archduke Carl Stefan, to which we were invited.

About this time we had the pleasure of a visit from one of the best women we had ever known, Mrs. Louisa Birt of Liverpool, who is a female Don Bosco, and spends the whole of her time in rescuing poor children from the streets. I believe in one year five thousand had passed through her establishment. At parting she gave me her little bag, with her initials on it, which I have still.

We also had seen a good deal of Lieutenant Karl Weyprecht, of the Austrian Navy, who, with Lieutenant Payer, discovered Franz Josef's Land during the Austrian Arctic Expedition, 1872-74; but this year he died, at the age of forty-three.

We had a short excursion to Laibach, to see the Littai Mines, in Krain, in which Richard was employed as reporter. They are lead and cinnabar, which concession embraces 1 3/5. Now there were great preparations for the return of Prince Rudolf. Of course the Austrian Squadron was in, and he was received with great honour. The City was illuminated, the streets were full; and in the evening there was a grand opera, and three thousand in the theatre. When the Prince entered there was great applause and "Vivas!" ladies clapping hands and waving handkerchiefs; the National Hymn was played, and all stood up for over ten minutes. The people showed immense loyalty, and the Prince left next day.

On the 19th of April Lord Beaconsfield died, and our journals were full of him for several pages. Richard wrote a "Sketch," which made twelve pages of print, which will appear in "Labours and Wisdom." My journal is four pages of lament. As a girl of fifteen, his "Tancred" formed all my ardent desires of an Eastern career, and was my first gate to Eastern knowledge and occult science. As a Statesman I put him on a pedestal as my political Chief and model. He had that peculiar prescience and foresight belonging to his Semitic blood. I think a certain period of things passed away with him. He was one of the last relics of England's greatness. Just as the Duke of Wellington died before the Crimean War, so Lord Beaconsfield foreshadowed England's temporary decline, or fusion into another state of things, and this feeling helped his decay. Anyway, one great man is gone.

We were very fond of going to the fairs, especially where the Hungarian Gypsies congregated. They used to sing, dance, tell fortunes, and Richard talked Romany with them.

We determined this year to take our gout baths from Duino, and not from Monfalcone; it is a forty minutes' drive from Duino to Monfalcone, and the baths are exactly halfway between.

Duino is a village picturesquely situated on an eminence overhanging the sea, two hours' drive from Trieste, and right in the Karso, the wild stony district before described. This village and castle remind one of old times. The village is completely towered over and dominated by the feudal castle and fortress of the Hohenlöhes, which stand on the rocky cliff, once surrounded by a keep, a moat, and a drawbridge in which now grow flowers. The village and everything around them is theirs, and their flag flies from the tower. The Prince, who was a very handsome man, died in 1868, and is buried in the family vault in the chapel. The Princess (the châtelaine), who is a sad invalid, was in her youth a beautiful, gentle, aristocratic blonde, full of talent and esprit. She was a Countess Della Torre (de la Tour d'Auvergne), Thurn being the Austrian branch. Her early history was very romantic. She resides there, and has two sons and three daughters, of which one is married to Prince Thurn and Taxis, and one son to a young and pretty Countess Kaünitz. The rural inn of the village was within a stone's-throw of the castle, and we remained there for six weeks taking the baths, and living every day in their pleasant society. The castle is filled with antiquities, family relics, old china, and is one of the show places of the country. It has its ghost (a white lady), and amongst other curiosities is a small portrait of a family saint, the famous Cardinal Hohenlöhe. The old Salle d'Armes (all the ancient armoury was stolen by the French) is made to represent a cave under the sea, full of shells and stalactites against a white sand wall, which, lit up at night, look like diamonds.

The grounds and shrubberies descend to the sea, where there is a bath-house, and where we used to have great fun swimming. On the opposite side is an old ruined castle in which Dante took refuge, and it is said the scene suggested his "Inferno," but it is more likely that the Caves of Adelsberg did that. The park is not quite our idea of a park; it is a space enclosed in four walls, with four large gateways, bearing armorial carvings. The ground is stony, covered with holm oak, in which the deer and birds flourish. It is closed against smugglers; the only lock has a secret, and the key is kept by one old retainer. In the old days the smugglers put out the eyes of a celebrated stag reindeer which always followed them. The tiny village inn is not uncomfortable, if you do not mind roughing it; there is a post, a telegraph office, and a Catholic chapel, belonging to the castle, and the only drawbacks are bad food and forty minutes' drive to reach a train, the Princesses having very sensibly, for their own peace, refused to have a station. The Trieste Sunday-trippers and ill-treaters of animals cannot get so far, so it is beautifully still and rural. There is a pretty bay, and an old monastery some way off, which is a pleasant walk.

We went for a day or two to Trieste to meet Lord Bath, and we came in for a scientific excursion by ship, with two hundred people, to Sipar, to Salona, and Pirano, where there was a band and dancing and lunch.

About this time, on April 30th, died Gessi Pasha, at Suez; he was Gordon's right-hand man.

We had charming walks to hunt for castellieri.[1] We walked to Slivno, to Ronchi; drove to Atila's Palace, and got some curios from the ruins. We drove out also to see some new caves, and once we all drove together to see a Sagra, or village dance, at Monfalcone, and going in we sat in the carriage to hear the band. Here I must relate a little story showing the force of imagination:—

In the carriage were two of the Princesses, Richard, and me. Suddenly, at the top of a roof, I caught sight of a rat, which appeared to me to be fascinated and spellbound by the music. "Look!" I said. "Don't move; but watch that rat, fascinated by the music." So we all sat and watched it, and thought it a most interesting fact in nature, that rats should share this in common with lizards and snakes and other things. We all saw it move; we all saw its head turn and its tail move, and we kept still, not to frighten it away. It lasted so long, however, that we were compelled to drive on; and next day we sent to inquire, and we found it was made of painted tin, and fixed to the top of a house—an Italian scherzo!

We then went on to Gorizia—already described—where we dined with Mr. Frederick Smart and his mother, a most beautiful, sweet, and venerable Italian lady, his sister, Mrs. Fehr, and Mr. and Mrs. Baird. Richard afterwards went to study bees with Father Pauletic, of the Deaf and Dumb Institute.

We used to spend many hours on the rocks with the Princesses, fishing for crabs, swimming, boating, telling ghost stories, and playing cards. Here we read Sinnett's "Occult World," which I reviewed.

The Princess's married son lives at Sagrado—a comfortable gentleman's seat, with a park, stags, good stables, and an unrivalled view. It has a remarkable bath-house in the park. They were both charming people, and we enjoyed our visit to them very much.

On the 24th of June, Mr. and Mrs. Freeman, of Somerleaze, and their two daughters (one since became Mrs. Arthur Evans) came over to Duino to see us. It was the day of the horse-fair with the Hungarian Gypsies, which afforded them some amusement. We were very sorry to leave Duino and our friends; but all pleasant things come to an end, and we had to go down to Trieste to prepare to receive our own Squadron.

On the 11th of this month our friend, Mr. Andrew Wilson, aged fifty-one, the author of the "Abode of Snow," one of those who wrote the little sketch of Richard's career, died.

From Truth, July 7, 1881.

"Dear Mistress Truth,—I am truly flattered by the genial and un-Grundy-like 'Anecdotal Photograph' of my Husband.

"But, dear Madam, allow me one word. Don't let your readers confound a bruise on the brow with a spear-wound through the mouth, splitting the palate-bone, and received in a 'thrilling fight' when some three hundred and fifty savages made a night attack on four Englishmen. Captain Burton usually spares Society any allusion to his adventures, but at times 'lions' are expected to roar, and are held contumacious if they keep silence.

"Knowing you only by good report, I do myself the pleasure of enclosing my card, and of requesting you, dear Madam, to believe me

"Your admirer,

"Isabel Burton.

"Trieste, June 29th."

We created a kind of Vauxhall in the grounds surrounding the Inn at Opçina. In a large field at the back of the Inn we had eight tables fifty feet long; a hut for tea, coffee, and refreshments, one of barrels of wine and beer, to be drawn off and served at the tables, a large wooden ball-room, three tents for toilettes, or for resting, and seats and benches all round, raised like an amphitheatre, for those who wanted to watch. These were adorned with five hundred and fifty large bouquets of flowers, several thousand coloured lamps, and two hundred flags of all nations. There were four entrances, each with transparencies exhibiting illuminated sentences, such as "Welcome!" "Ave!" "Austria and England" crossed. The English Admiral and the Austrian Commander-in-Chief each lent us their bands. We had no end of fireworks, and Catherine wheels, and Bengal lights. Austrian-Lloyd's lent us forty stewards; the Chief of Police lent us a cordon of police to keep the ground. Every omnibus and carriage in the place was engaged to bring up such guests as had not their own private carriages, and I chose twelve aide-de-camps to help me to make the affair go off; in short, we looked forward to having a regular good time.

Everything was in high gala, and the first waltz had begun, when the weather, which had been as dry as a bone all the summer till that moment, suddenly opened out; and it did not rain, but it poured in buckets, with tremendous thunder and lightning. It just lasted two hours, putting out all our lamps, damping our fireworks, reducing our transparencies to pulp; there was a regular sauve qui peut to the inn. The police went for the drinking-booth, and were soon incapable; the mob broke in; they seized all the best things to eat and drink, they jumped on the plates and dishes and broke them. Richard looked up to the sky and ejaculated, "So like Provy!" I cried with rage and mortification for a few minutes, and then, rallying round, Richard and I got a party of young men to the rescue, who went and cleared the grounds, already over ankle-deep in mud; they rescued all that was left of food and drink. I got another party to clear away the furniture of the lower part of the Inn, set the two bands to work in different parts, and my friends to dancing, whilst my aide-de-camps and I rigged up several supper-rooms. I had forty waiters from Lloyd's, but half of them had followed the example of the police. Our friends, quite unconscious of the havoc behind the scenes, danced right merrily the whole night, and supped, and were good-natured enough to enjoy themselves thoroughly with the greatest good humour; and the party did not break up until five.

I went out into the back scenes, where I found that my own things were being sold at the bar of the inn, to our own Squadron's bandsmen, at a big price. I soon put a stop to that, and obliged the vendors to restore them their money, and gave them their suppers and wine. It was a pandemonium. The natives were all too far gone to know me, so that I could hardly get any order obeyed; they were breaking bottles of wine, two together, like clashing cymbals. The tipsy coachmen were dancing with the tipsy villagers, and every now and then they jumped on a dish, or destroyed property in other ways. It was not encouraging, but it was useless to struggle against the inevitable, so I only saw that the Squadron bandsmen got all they wanted without paying for it. (Such is the wild animal when it can do what it likes without restraint.)

Meanwhile we managed to do a lot of fireworks, and everything went off beautifully. After all our guests were departed, Everard Primrose and Mr. Welby, the well-known popular attaché, finding their coachman helplessly drunk, put him inside the carriage, and got on the box and drove themselves down; and the very last thing of all was seeing our staggering, hiccoughing policemen into omnibuses to go down to Trieste. Thus ended our first fête for the Squadron. The damage the natives did us was immense, as we borrowed all our plates and dishes from a Company, and any one can imagine what that would be, to give a sit-down supper to eight hundred people.

The Emperor, who always honours the English fleet—the only one he notices—ordered entertainments to be given, one at the castle at Miramar, and the other by the Austrian Admiral; so on the 11th came off the dinner at Miramar, and on the 13th the Austrian Admiral's dinner. Then the English Admiral gave us a dinner, and then a ball was given by H.M.S. Alexandra, where the officers kindly asked me to help them to receive the Trieste guests. On the 14th we had "teas" on board the Invincible and the Alexandra, and Admiral Beauchamp Seymour's (now Lord Alcester) dinner; the 15th, a tea-party on board the Falcon, and a ball on the Superb. On the 16th we organized a monster picnic to the Caves of Adelsberg, which were illuminated expressly. On the 17th Baron Morpurgo gave a banquet with music, and then followed our dinner to the Captains of the Men-of-war. The fleet departed on the 18th, and we went round to say good-bye. Baron Marco Morpurgo kindly gave us a steamer to see the fleet off; he provided refreshments and music, and we asked our best friends to join. The flagship Alexandra moved first, the ships forming two lines behind her. We steamed in our little vessel alongside the flagship, at a proper distance, till we escorted them out of our Gulf for about a couple of hours; then, shooting ahead, we stopped our engines, dipped our flag thrice, cheered, and turned back, cheering every ship as we passed. They all played "Auld Lang Syne" and "Good-bye, Sweetheart, Good-bye." It was the prettiest sight in the world on a summer evening in the Gulf of Trieste, to see that "going out," and we were awfully sorry to lose them. Captain Selby, of H.M.S. Falcon, was left behind to pick up deserters. We dined with him after parting with the Squadron, and some of his men did a very pretty hornpipe in the moonlight to amuse us.

It is wonderful how popular our sailors became at Trieste; they did such fresh, innocent, playful sort of jokes, and withal so manly and so generous, that they cannot but fail to attract foreigners, whose soldiers and sailors are much more like a patent machine. Most respectable families of the middle classes made great friendships with them, and received them into their families in intimacy, and I am told that they say that the men save up all their money for coming to Trieste. When they fraternized with the Austrian soldiers and sailors, who had not much money in their pockets, they always treated them, which won all hearts.

One man, who evidently had not tasted beer for a long time, went to the Café Specchi, where he asked for a bottle of beer (they are very small); he drank it, paid for it, and called for another. I was not there, but rumour said that he did not get up till he had drank fifty of these little bottles, and had collected quite a crowd around him. One day they were larking about, and they ran away bodily with an old woman's fruit-stall, she following them shrieking. When they had had their fun out of her, they ran back with it, and put it down again, and then gave her two and sixpence. She was so delighted that she wanted them to do it again, and called after them every time they passed, asking them to run away with her stall, like a big child. Another day a lot of them played leap-frog in the Piazza. The Triestines had never seen leap-frog, consequently quite a crowd collected. Once a party of them went into the market, and they each bought one of those large feather kitchen blowers, which they used like fans, and then they came back joining arms and dancing a step all down the street, fanning themselves. All these things "fetched" the Triestines immensely.

One day I saw one of them standing by the Austrian Admiral's garden; an apple tree hung over into the road, so he plucked an apple and ate it. He was in the public road, and of course the apple had no business there. Immediately the sentry came out, and a crowd of soldiers and sailors around him were all jabbering at him. He looked at them quietly, and went on munching his apple till they touched him, and then he gave a sort of a quiet, sweeping back-hander, which knocked one or two of them down. I foresaw a row, so I stepped up to him and said, "I am your Consul's wife, and I want to tell you that they are trying to make you understand that those are the Austrian Admiral's apples, and that you must not eat them." So he smiled and said, "I am sure I am exceedingly obliged to you, ma'am. I did not know that there was any reason why I should not eat the apple, and I wondered what they were all jabbering at me for." And he saluted and went. Then I explained to the irritated men that he had not known; that he did not understand a word they said, and that if an apple was in the road, it seemed as if any one might take it, and that he was very sorry that he had not understood. When the Squadron left Trieste, eighteen of them hid, and did not join their ships; and when at last they were caught, and brought off, they said, "It was such a —— ideal place that they had not really the heart to leave it." I begged Captain Selby so hard not to punish them much. And he said, "Oh no, the darlings! Wait until I get them on board a ship; I'll have them tucked up comfortably in bed with a nice hot grog." We then had a visit from Captain Maude, who had got a little longer leave.

We never saw poor Captain Selby again, as he was afterwards murdered.

On the 8th of August we started for a new trip, and went viâ Laibach to Veldes, viâ Radmannsdorf. Veldes consists of a lake, with a few houses around, chiefly people's villas, and a very comfortable inn (Mallner's). It is a lovely spot, but rather shut in. This place has its little romance. We rowed about two hours in a boat to a small island in the middle of the lake. On the island is a little church, and the house of a peasant family who keep the church. In the church is a long rope, by which you ring a bell (a big church bell); it is called the "wishing bell." You kneel down and wish for something, and pray for it, and then you get up and ring the bell. If you have several wishes, they say you are sure to get the first. After I had finished, Richard rowed off to a spring, and I went and visited the people. There was an old man of ninety, his daughter, her daughter, and a baby—four generations. After talking to them for some time, I noticed a little carved wooden figure of Death with a scythe, and I said, "Oh, do you know, there is something in this little cottage that I rather envy you." "What is that?" said the old man. I said, "That death figure." "Why," he said, "ladies are generally frightened of that;" but he added, "I could not part with that. My grandfather carved it when he was a boy. I am over ninety; it must have been there for a hundred and fifty years. We have a superstition that it keeps us alive to a great old age." I said, "Pray excuse me; I had no idea that it had any importance attached to it, or I would not have noticed it." And I turned the conversation to other things; but when I got up to go, he said, "What did you mean to give me for that death's head?" I said, "Why, hardly anything—perhaps a couple of florins; you must forget that I said such a thing." "Oh no," he said, "I could not afford to lose so much money as that." So the end of it was that I gave him five florins, and brought away the skeleton, and we were both delighted, and I mean to leave it when I die to the person whose life is most important to the country.

Now, Richard was absent without leave from F.O., but of course he never left without the Consulate being in the charge of the Vice-Consul, and all money affairs settled. We were dreadfully frightened of meeting any one we knew. Think of our horror when we saw coming into the restaurant the Chaplain of the Embassy at Vienna—our Chief's Chaplain! Fortunately, the Rev. G. L. Johnston was one of the most charming and gentlemanly men I ever saw. Richard bolted up to bed; but I thought it would be wiser to take the bull by the horns, so I went up to him, and confided our difficulty to him. He burst out laughing, and said, "My dear child, I am just doing exactly the same thing myself." I ran upstairs and fetched Richard down again.

We then went on to Tarvis and St. Michele, and from thence to Salzburg; it was a seventeen hours' journey with many changes of train. Salzburg is a beautiful place, and its Hôtel Europa one of the dearest and best I ever was in. We had come up to a Scientific Congress, and passed our time with Count Würmbrandt the Governor of Istria, Count Bombelles, in attendance on Prince Rudolf, Prince Windisgrätz, Professor Müllner, Abbate Glübich, the African travellers Holúb and Nachtigall, all scientific men. We had an expedition to the salt mines, and went to the bottom of the mines, and the museum, which is lovely and of great interest. Then we went to Lend, where we took a four-horse carriage, and had a magnificent three-hours' drive up the Salz Kammergut, reaching Gastein at five o'clock, one of the most beautiful places in Austria, and were enchanted with the scenery, the air, and the waterfall. Richard and I used to sit out and read and look at the view all day. Then we took train to Steinach-Irding, to visit Mr. Zech, the proprietor of Shepherd's Hotel, Cairo. He was a good and jolly old man, with a nice gentlemanly son, a Parisian wife, and some married daughters. Other members of the family also arrived, and presently came a little officer who had lost his way. We were heartily welcomed; it was a Liberty Hall, comfortable, hospitable, and you were expected to ask for everything you wanted. We then started for Ischl. The whole Court was here; it was a very pretty place, situated between two rivers, with beautiful air and a very fashionable promenade, and we were very gay. There were illuminations and fireworks for Prince Rudolf's birthday, and a very amusing little German theatre.

On the 7th of September I was so ill that I did not know how to get to Vienna, but I had myself put into a coupé to myself, with room to lie down, and I never stirred off it during the eleven hours and forty minutes viâ Pilsen and Budweis to Vienna, when at the station Richard awaited me with the information that he had got a dinner-party to meet me, and so I had to dress and receive. We had after this one delightful dinner and evening with Baron Pino and his wife at Hietzing, and next day we went down to Trieste. We just changed baggage and went to Venice for the great Geographical Congress, which was opened on the 15th. The illuminations at Venice were something to remember all one's life, every bit of tracery of the buildings, and especially that of St. Marco, being picked out with little lamps, and the artistic part of it was to throw the electric light only on the Basilica. I never in my life saw, and never shall again see, anything to equal it. Lady Layard gave a party to all the English and Americans, and the chief of the Venetian Society. Captain Vernon Lovett-Cameron, R.N., V.C., was staying with us, and we collected around us all the pleasantest people there at our breakfasts and dinners. The regatta was also a never-to-be-forgotten sight. The King and Queen were there. All the gondolas represented some country; there were the old Venetian gondoliers, there were Esquimaux, there were troubadours—you could not imagine a country or character that was not represented; and every gondola that assumed no character was dressed in gala array, and their men in gondolier uniform and sash. Ours was covered with pale blue velvet. Another day was the opening of the gardens of St. Giobbe by the Royalties. Here, amongst other friends, we met Mr. Labouchere, General de Horsey, who was a very dear friend of Richard's, General Fielding, and many others. There was a night serenade on the water with every boat illuminated, which was also a grand sight.

Captain Cameron was wild with spirits, and we had many amusing episodes and one especial sort of picnic day at the Lido, where, just as Lord Aberdare and some of the primmest people of the Congress were coming, Richard and he insisted on taking off their shoes and stockings and digging mud-pies, like two naughty little boys, and they kept calling out to me, "Look, nurse, we have made such a beautiful pie," and "Please tell Dick not to touch my spade." I could not speak to the people for laughing, especially as some of them looked so grave. However, Richard was exceedingly angry, as he had a good right to be. Here was a Geographical Congress just outside the City of which he was Consul, and, as if it had been done on purpose to let him down before foreigners, he was not only not asked to be the representative from Austria, but not even asked to meet his fellow-geographers, not even asked to take any part in it, not even asked to speak at it; so he held himself entirely aloof from them, as far as Congress was concerned, and he left his card in the Congress-room with the following squib, as spoken by the British representatives from London to Venice:—

"We're Saville Row's selected few,
Let all the rest be damned;
The pit is good enough for you,
We won't have boxes crammed."

Would they have ventured so to treat Stanley or Livingstone or any other Traveller? No! they would not. Every nation had put forth its best men, but it must be acknowledged—whether it is jealousy or what, I cannot imagine—ours get crushed and ignored on every possible occasion, and the men of intellectual straw shoot up to make fools of themselves and their country. The following letter was sent afterwards to Richard by our old friend, H. W. Bates:—

"1, Saville Row, Burlington Gardens, W., October 1st, 1881.

"Dear Burton,

"I read your very amusing and clever account of the Venice Congress in the Academy before receiving your letter of the 26th. There cannot be any doubt that your estimate of the meeting is correct, and that it was a vain show without any serious import for science. But then the question arises, 'Who expected it to be otherwise?' We in London did not. A proof of which, take the fact that the R.G.S. did not send anything for exhibition. Lord Aberdare to a certain extent represented us there, but there was no intention, as far as I know, of British geographical science being represented there for serious purposes, because nobody here believed anything serious would be done at the Congress. Notwithstanding all this, I cannot understand how it came to pass, that you and Cameron were not asked to take the active part that was your due in the meetings and discussions. Nobody of course wanted geographical information, but for the European éclat of the thing you ought to have been put forward.

"Yours sincerely,

"H.W. Bates.

"P.S.—You will not see a word about Venice in our October number. We shall perhaps give a page about it in November, if I can get authentic report of what little work was done. Can you supply it, i.e. a dry, serious compte-rendu, professionally?

"Mrs. Burton's communication has not yet arrived. Give my kind regards to her."

On the 24th we all broke up and went back to Trieste. Captain Cameron then came to us at Trieste, and Colonel Gould, and Abbate Glübich.

On the 18th of November Richard, who had all this while been arranging the journey with Captain Cameron, had been employed by a private speculator to go out to the West Coast of Africa, especially to the Guinea Coast, and to report on certain mines there, which Richard had discovered in 1861-64 (when he was Consul for that coast, and was wandering about, discovering and publishing his discoveries), if he could conscientiously give a good one. He was to have all his expenses paid, a large sum for his report, and shares in the mines; so on the 18th of November we embarked at two o'clock in the day.

We left the quay at four, hung on to a buoy outside the breakwater till midnight, and then left by the Demerara steamship (Cunard), Captain Jones, from Trieste to Venice. At six a.m. we anchored in a rolling sea, with a heavy fog a couple of miles outside the Lido, but at twelve it lifted sufficiently to let us see the entrance to Malamocco, and we got in. It was so raw, damp, and thick, and cold to the bones, that everybody was ill, and we took rooms at the Britannia so long as the ship should stay. We then had a splendid passage to Fiume, where we had a very pleasant time with old friends for nearly a week. On the 25th we had just finished writing up the biography, when they came to tell me that the ship had to sail that day, which caused me a good deal of sorrow, as I was to be left at Fiume; my expenses were not paid, and we personally had not enough money for two, so Richard was to go on to the Guinea Coast alone. I watched the ship till it was out of sight, and felt very lonely. I had supper with Consul Faber, and we looked over his splendid book of "Fishes," which was going home to the "Fisheries." The next day we had an expedition to Tersate with Count and Countess Hoyos, and the following day I went back to Trieste. Meantime Richard went on to Petras and Zante, Messina, Sardinia, Gibraltar, Lisbon, and Madeira. Then arrived at Trieste Lady Mary Primrose, now Lady Mary Hope (Everard Primrose's sister).

1882.

This year I fretted dreadfully at Richard's absence, and not being allowed to join him, and made myself quite ill. I worked at my usual occupations for the poor, and preventing cruelty to animals, studying and writing, and carrying out all the numerous directions contained in his letters.

On the 25th we got the intelligence of poor Captain Selby's (of H.M.S, Falcon) death, who was murdered by Albanian shepherds. Two hours after his skull had been broken by the axe of the assailants, he was able to climb on board the ship, and died on the 22nd of February, 1882. He was a brave and good man, and could ill be spared.

On the 1st of March I had a telegram from the present Lord Houghton to tell me that his father lay dangerously ill at Athens. He arrived himself at Trieste on the 4th, and I saw him off the same day to Athens.

I got a sort of feverish cold in April, and was confined to my bed, and I was very much surprised at getting a summons to the Tribunal. My doctor (Professor Liebman) arrived, and I said, "I wonder what I am wanted at the Tribunal for; I have not done anything wrong that I know of?" and he said, "I shall certainly write and say that you cannot come." Later in the day my door opened, and in marched a solemn procession of gentlemen in black, with pens and ink and papers. I was rather taken aback, and asked them "what they wanted." They then produced a letter in Italian, which purported to be, though it was very incorrect, a translation of a letter I had written to Mr. Arthur Evans in Herzegovina. They asked me what I knew about Mr. Evans. I said, "I know nothing but good of him; but why do you ask?" "Because," they said, "he is in prison for conspiring against the Austrian Empire." "Oh," I said, "what has he done?" They said, "You must know something about it, because you have written to warn him. What do you know?" I said, "I only know that I heard some of the officers here saying that he was meddling in what did not concern him, and that, if they could catch him off civilized ground, they would hang him up to the first tree, and as I know his wife and her family, and they are my own compatriots, I thought I would write and say to him, 'What are you doing? Whatever it is, leave it off, as you are incurring ill will in Austria by it.'" I meant to be very kind, but I ought not to have done it, as it not only vexed Mrs. Evans, whom I liked very much, but unluckily, as the post was slow between Trieste and Herzegovina, it did not reach until after he had been put into political confinement, and consequently the authorities had opened it, read it, and had it translated, and had summoned me to give an account of myself. However, on my assuring them that I knew nothing but what I had heard from themselves, they were quite satisfied, and took their departure.

It was now discovered by Professor Liebman that I had the germs of an internal complaint of which I am suffering at present, possibly resulting from my fall downstairs in Paris in 1879. I had noticed all this year that I had been getting weaker and weaker in the fencing-school, and sometimes used to turn faint, and Reich (my fencing-master) used to say, "Why, what is the matter with you? Your arms are getting so limp in using the broadsword." I did not know, but I could not keep up for long at a time. I think I went no more after that.

Nigh six months had passed, and it was now time for me to go and meet Richard at Liverpool, so I left the 18th of April, spending a few happy days in Vienna, thence to Paris and Boulogne, where I found a howling tempest. Two houses had been destroyed, a steamer was signalling distress, and the Hôtel Impérial Pavilion had to open its back door to let me in, the gale being too strong in front. I had brought a Trieste girl with me as maid, whose class or race did not admit of the wearing of hat or bonnet. They wanted to turn me out of the church at Boulogne, because the girl was bareheaded, and I had to explain that nothing would induce her to wear one for fear of losing caste. I got off in a very bad sea two days later, and to London on the 3rd of May.

On the 15th I went up to Liverpool. Richard and Captain Cameron arrived in the African mail Loanda on the 20th, and there was a great dinner that night, given by the Liverpudlians to welcome them back. It was a great success, and they were all very merry. On the 22nd we came up to London, but no sooner did we arrive there, than Richard was taken quite ill and had to go to bed. He was to have lectured at the Society of Arts, but he could not, which was an awful disappointment to them and to us; but he soon got well under home care, and he lectured on the 31st at the Anthropological.

He notices in his journal the death of the poet and artist, Gabriel Rossetti, on the 10th of April, and Darwin's death on the 19th. We were immediately occupied in bringing out "To the Gold Coast for Gold" (2 vols,), where he gives an account of the different places to which he and Captain Cameron went, the chief place being Axim, on the Guinea coast. There were two obstacles which were deemed fatal to success. One was Ashantee obstruction, and the other was the expense of transporting machinery and working still labour in a wild country, a lack of hands, and the climate; but they were only bugbears. "He knew nothing to equal it as to wealth, either in California or in Brazil. Gold dust was panned by native women from the sands of the seashore, gold spangles glittered after showers in the streets of Axim; their washings weighed from half an ounce to four ounces per ton. The gold is there, and it is our fault if it stays there. We have in our hands the best of workmen—the tireless machine, the steam navvy, and the quartz stamp; and those called 'Long Tom' and 'Broad Tom' would do more work in a day than a whole gang of negroes."

He says that in the last century the Gold Coast exported to Europe three and a half millions of sterling gold, but the abolition of slavery and manumissions brought it down to £126,000 value. A few years ago England's annual supply was £25,000,000, and was then (1882) £18,000,000. England wants gold, and he says that the Gold Coast can supply it to any amount that England may want. There was a threatened action a while ago about the way the moneys were supplied for the carrying out of these mines, called the Guinea Coast Trial. My husband was not employed to take charge, or to work there, and nearly all who were sent out (with one or two notable exceptions) thought more of feathering their own nests, even for a couple of years, than of the public good; hence the thing failed, but will live again.