In Edinburgh we looked after publishers and "Swords."

On the 18th of September Mr. H. Irving gave us a very agreeable supper at the Continental Hotel, and Mr. Arbuthnot a pleasant dinner at Richmond. Mr. George Paget was with us. We sauntered on the bridge and watched the boats.

Richard notices a lunch at "dear old Larking's, aged eighty-five," who sheltered him when going to Mecca; and that we had a very pleasant dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Labouchere at Twickenham, and Richard dined with the "Odd Volumes;" also a delightful lunch with G. A. Sala, and one pleasant party at the Dowager Lady Stanley's of Alderley.

We saw a good deal of Count Téleki, who was starting on his African travels, and we had a pleasant lunch with Mrs. (now Lady) Jeune.

On return we went to Wardour, where there had been a great storm; some big oaks had been torn up in the pheasant copse near the Castle, a shepherd's hut had been lifted up and dashed to pieces, and a ploughshare had been blown along. We came in for an amusing village dance. Thence we went to Bournemouth for two days, where we met a good number of friends, dining with Sir Richard and Lady Glyn; then to Eastbourne to see an old friend of my girlhood, the Comtesse de Noailles, where we met Captain Jephson, who afterwards went with Mr. Stanley to Africa.

Lord Iddesleigh was now our Chief at the Foreign Office, and both he and Lady Iddesleigh were extremely kind to us, and we had a delightful dinner at their house.

My father's dear old home was quite empty, and before the keys were given up, Richard and I went all over it on the 18th of September, and took a solemn leave of it. On the 27th of September Richard had his last (independent) jolly night with his men-friends. He dined at Boodle's to meet Prince Salms, and then he went to Mr. Deutsch's, and he came home at half-past one, having had a very agreeable evening, but it was for the last time in that kind of way. We had a dinner at Mr. and Mrs. Ashbee's to say good-bye to Count Téleki before going to Africa, and I gave him a talisman.

On the 6th of October we went to hear Mr. Heron Allen's lecture on palmistry at the Vestry Hall, Hampstead.

Richard had been having little attacks of gout off and on—bad one day, and better and well within two days—and had been plying up and down between Oxford and London. On the 19th of October I had a cab at the door to take me to Liverpool Street to go on a visit to my convent in Essex, but most fortunately, before I stepped into it, a telegram was put into my hands, saying, "Gout in both feet; come directly;" so I started for Oxford there and then, arriving in one hour and a half after I received the telegram. I found him quite helpless, not being able to put either foot to the ground, and very feverish and restless. It was a misty, muggy day, and there was thunder and lightning, and buckets of rain all that day and night till twelve o'clock the following day. The morning after my arrival I ambulanced him up to town, everything being prearranged by telegraph, and Dr. Foakes, his gout doctor, to meet us at our lodgings.

This was his third bad attack of gout since 1883—eight months, three months—and this time he was in bed several weeks. All his friends used to come and sit with him; amongst others, I remember Lord Stanley of Alderley, Mr. James Cotton of the Academy, St Clair Baddeley, Mr. Arbuthnot, Miss Bird, J. H. McCarthy, junior, Mr. Anderson the author, African traveller, and discoverer of the third movement of the Earth, used to come and amuse him.

On the 10th of November, 1886, the first volume of my "Nights" came out.

After nearly six weeks' confinement to the house, Richard thought that he should like to try Dr. Kellgren, of Eaton Square, who went in for shampooing, and gives a kind of athletic treatment for these complaints, and I went down to Eaton Square first to see what it was like. On the 29th of November he came, and it was a very curious experience. He arrived with a young lady called Miss Alice, who is his right hand. They first treated me for quite a different malady, and my yells amused Richard very much, because he did not know that it was not a joke. He was afraid to let anybody come into the room, for fear that they should shake his foot, and he was presently being driven round the room like a wild beast. This was kept up for several days, and there is no doubt that, awful as it seemed, he was able to go down to Dr. Kellgren's in Eaton Square in a brougham with me, with restoratives in the carriage, on that day week, and he got gradually better. We were able to drive to Putney and lunch with Swinburne and Mr. Watts.

This is his own account of it—

"Three short visits to Oxford and one long one in a single month were sufficient to bring on a disabling attack of gout—my third attack of gout, which threatened to last. It was made as pleasant to me as it could be, by the kindness and attention and sympathy of such men as Professors Chandler, Sayce, and many other kind friends; and, helpless in both feet, 20th of October, I was ambulanced up to London by my wife, men to carry me from bed to train at each end, and bed in train. I went through my first treatment by Dr. Foakes, the rhubarb and magnesia man, but though the drugs formed a good prophylactic, they failed to subdue a sharp attack. After six weeks of bed, I determined upon a neck-or-nothing treatment, and sent my wife to fetch me Dr. Kellgren, the celebrated Swede, concerning whom there is such a variety of opinions in London. The treatment is simply horrible; the gouty limb, which can hardly bear the noise of a person passing over the carpet, is shampooed and twisted and pumped up and down till the patient is in absolute agony, and as soon as he is able to stand upon it he is driven round the room like a wild beast. There seems to be some danger in the practice; the lithic acid expelled from the joint is absorbed into the circulation, and in the protean malady no one can tell when or where the mischief may break out—in stomach, brain, or heart. However, the treatment was for the moment most successful, and after a week I was able to crawl downstairs, limp into a cab, and visit Mr. Kellgren's establishment, No. 1, Eaton Square.[3]

"The improvement continued, and we determined to pass our Christmas at Garswood with our uncle, the late Lord Gerard. He had always been both to me and to my wife a kind and generous friend, and a second father. It was her second home, and it was with heartfelt sorrow that we saw him fast declining, and felt sadly sure that we should not see him again; and so it proved, for after much difficulty he was persuaded to go up to town and take the best medical advice, but two days after was found dead in his bed. He belonged to that old school of good and gallant English gentlemen, which in its time made the name of Englishmen a word of honour throughout the civilized world. We took the opportunity of going over to Knowsley, which is a mere drive, where we found a large party, and we then returned to London, and were invited to Hatfield, where we also found a large Christmas party. On the 1st of November we said good-bye to Lady Marian Alford, who was declining in health, and we had a fear that we should not see her any more."

Richard notices on the 11th of November the death of our old friend the Dublin philanthropist, Sir John Lentaigne, and on the 8th of December he writes feelingly about the death of Lady Orford at Florence.

The day before we left London for good (January 4th, 1887), we saw and said good-bye to "Ouida" for the last time, and on the 5th he notices the death of Sir Francis Bolton.

CHAPTER XIII.

WE LEAVE ENGLAND.

1887.

1887 opened with fearful weather, fog and snow. On the 5th of January we left London for good, and went to the Pavilion Hotel, Folkestone, where Richard could see his own relations, who had several large receptions for us, and were glad to leave the fog behind us about twelve miles away from London.

On the 12th we were very shocked and sad at getting a telegram announcing Lord Iddesleigh's death. The last thing this kind and noble-hearted man did, was to send down a basket of game, because Richard was not well. The following day, on a foggy, rainy, raw, and breezy day, we crossed for Paris, where we generally lodged at Meurice's. Here Richard enjoyed the society of our friend Professor Zotenberg, and was delighted with the library, the Bibliothèque Nationale, where he found the Arabic original of "Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp;" and we saw a great deal of Mr. Zotenberg. He is a friend I hope I shall keep all my life. Here I found dear Anna Kingsford exceedingly ill; she had been in bed ten weeks with inflammation of the lungs. She cheered up a little at seeing Richard and me, but we never saw her after, for she shortly died.

On the 20th of January Richard was not very well, and Dr. George Bird appeared opportunely. He was not at all pleased with the health of either of us, and especially of Richard, and he prescribed. We left the next day for Cannes, which we reached in eighteen and a half hours, greeting each other on the morning of our twenty-sixth wedding-day in the train. Here we had to drive about and look for rooms, and were at last glad to get into the Hôtel Windsor, as we were rather done up.

We thought Cannes very pretty, and so is most of the Riviera, and we could understand English people, who leave their truly abominable climate with never a bit of sun, rejoicing in it; but to people like us, who lived in every kind of climate, its faults were more apparent than its virtues. You have sun and blue sea and sky, cactus, small palms, oranges and figs, magnolias and olives, spring flowers and balmy air, but this is on the agreeable days. English people, we remarked, go and sit with beaming faces on benches fronting the sea, with the warm sun right in their faces, and a bitter biting wind driving against their backs and injuring their lungs, just as much as if the sun was not there, while the smells of drains, especially in the principal street, were something atrocious.

His journal goes as follows:—

"We had now nothing more to do in England. The weather had been frightful for three weeks, so we took rail to Folkestone, and left fog and rain behind us twelve miles from London. After a short visit to my sister, we crossed the Channel and arrived in Paris, where I wanted to translate the tales 'Zayn al Asnàn,' and 'Aladdin,' lately discovered in the original Arabic by my kind and obliging friend, Hermann Zotenberg, Keeper of the Oriental Manuscripts. The artificial heating of the fine reading-saloon was too much for my heavy cold, and I was obliged to satisfy myself with having the MSS. copied and sent after me. My condition became worse at Paris, and Dr. Bird said we should go south without further delay. Here we parted with my wife's friend and colleague in philanthropy, Dr. Anna Kingsford, M.D. She was in the last stage of consumption, suffering from mind and soul, distressed at the signs and sounds connected with vivisection. Her sensitive organization braved these horrors in order to serve and succour, but both she and my wife could not help feeling that their efforts were in vain. We took the so-called train de luxe, which proved terrible for shakiness. We arrived at Cannes on the morning of our twenty-sixth wedding-day, and after weary searching for lodgings, were glad to find comfortable rooms at the Hôtel Windsor. The Riviera was beautiful with the bluest skies and sea, sunshine, crisp breeze, and flowers; the greenest vegetation, always excepting the hideous eucalyptus, everywhere clad in rags and tatters like the savages in their native land. The settlement contains, in round numbers, six hundred and fifty villas, large and small. The Society was the gayest of the gay, ranging from Crown Princes of the oldest, to American millionaires of the newest. Cannes is a syren that lures to destruction, especially to the unseasoned patient from the north; the bar-pressure is enormous; the gneiss and schiste and porphyry rocks suggest subterranean heat, and nerves suffer accordingly. Behind the warm sunshine is a raw breeze, and many of the visitors show that look of misère physiologique, reminding one of Madeira. One meets with friends without number,[1] and what with breakfasts, lunches, five-o'clock teas, dinners, balls, and suppers, not to speak of picnics and excursions, time is thoroughly taken up, but, as a place for invalids, it appeared to us one of the most dangerous. The Rue d'Antibes, or High Street, is at once a sewer and a bath of biting cold air; the strong sea-breeze setting in on the fair esplanade before noon chills to the bone, and a walk in the shade from the burning sun is too severe a change for most constitutions. A great drawback is the vile drainage, and also the want of a large pump-room or salon—not a café or a club—where the World can meet. There, during the few rainy weeks, when the south-eastern or the south-western winds blow, the absence of promenoirs in the hotels is a serious inconvenience."

We called immediately upon our old friend Dr. Frank, and he and Lady Agnes Frank introduced us to all the Society there, and we were very gay indeed. Richard had the honour of dining twice with the Prince of Wales. We went to Lady Murray's fancy dress ball given in honour of the Prince, where Richard appeared for the last time as a Bedawin Arab, and I as Marie Stuart; and Mr. and Mrs. Walker also invited us to a garden-party to meet their Royal Highnesses. We had the honour of being invited to breakfast by their Imperial Highnesses the Prince Leopold and Princess of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen. She was the Infanta of Portugal. We were presented to the Archduke Mecklenburg-Schwerin, and Richard was invited to dine with him; and we were sent for by the Grand Duke and Duchess of Baden; and of literary people we met Sir Theodore and Lady Martin, and Miss Dempster, the author of "Blue Roses," and an immense quantity of charming people. We had a delightful breakfast with Monsieur and Madame Outrey, and with Mrs. Ince-Anderton, at the Californie, and met M. Lematte, a great painter from Algeria. On the 12th of February the Albany Memorial at Cannes was consecrated in the presence of the Prince of Wales. It seemed to be nothing but an incessant round of gaiety. I mention these things because it was our last little gleam of the gay world. We took an immense quantity of walks and drives, made excursions, but unfortunately Richard found one of Dr. Kellgren's men, Mr. Mohlin, and he would go on working at the savage treatment with him, which I am almost convinced he had not the strength to bear. My belief is, though we did not know it, that he had a bad cold, brought on by the awful weather in England, which had given him a chill on the liver, whereas he was being treated for suppressed gout.

He began now to think about translating literally the "Pentamerone of Basili." He spoke the Neapolitan dialect very fluently as a boy.

"Was a black-letter day for Europe in general, and for the Riviera in particular. A little before six a.m. on the finest of mornings, with the smoothest of seas, the still sleeping world was aroused by what seemed to be the rumbling and shaking of a thousand express trains hissing and rolling along, and in a few moments followed the shock, making the hotel reel and wave. The duration was about one minute. My wife said to me, 'Why, what sort of express train have they got on to-day?' It broke on us, upheaving, and making the floor undulate, and as it came I said, 'By Jove! that's a good earthquake.' She called out, 'All the people are rushing out in the garden undressed; shall we go too?' I said, 'No, my girl; you and I have been in too many earthquakes to show the white feather at our age.' 'All right,' she answered; and I turned round and went to sleep again. She did her toilette as she had intended, and went off to Mass and Communion for Ash Wednesday, as she was obliged to do. It did less harm at Cannes than at Nice or Mentone. It split a few walls, shook the soul out of one's body, and terrified strangers out of their wits. One side of Cannes felt very little, and the other side, upon which we were, caught the rebound from the mountains, and we felt it very much, but neighbouring towns, especially Nice, Mentone, and chief of all Diana Marino, suffered terribly. Mentone seemed as if freshly bombarded, and Diana, where the focus was supposed to be, showed a total wreck, with much loss of life. Savona was much shaken, and the quake frightened Genoa and Rome, Avignon and Marseilles. (Even in 1890 many ruins had not been repaired.) Seven minutes after the first shock came another and a heavier shake, which increased the panic, and a third explosion, between half-past eight and nine, cleared out all the hotels.

"Scenes ludicrous and tragical were the rule. At first the hotel folks began a mob's rush for the gardens, habited no matter how, into the streets. An Italian count threw his clothes out of the window, flew downstairs, and dressed under a tree. Ancient fashionable dames forgot their wigs, and sat in night-gowns and shawls under the trees. An Englishman ran out of his tub with his two sponges in either hand, but all the rest of his belongings were forgotten. The pathetic side was the women and children shrieking for their families, and fainting and fits and arrested action of the heart caused some deaths. A host of terror-stricken visitors crowded the railway stations, and, to the great praise of the authorities, were sent away as fast as they could fill the trains—hotel-keepers and railway authorities trusting—and it is said they carried off thirty thousand visitors in one day. A well-known capitalist hired a railway carriage at five hundred francs a night to sleep in. Many of those departing in the trains were absolutely in their night-gowns, and abandoned their baggage. It was the beginning of several lasting illnesses. When my wife came in, she went to take her coffee, during which there was another great shock. She came in at once to me and begged me to get up, but I would not. About nine o'clock there was another bad shock, and she again begged me to get up. I thought I would by this time, for it was getting too shaky, and if the house did come down I did not want to be buried in the ruins, and to cause her to be so too; so I slowly got up and dressed, during which operation she gave me the religious side of the question. The priests had flocked to one church, and there were seventeen hundred scared people, who had neglected their religion, fighting to get into the confessionals. There was one (French) woman who had flown into an Abbé's room, and flung herself upon his bed, shrieking, 'Get up! get up, Father! I have not confessed for twenty years.' The poor Abbé did get up, but a shock flung him against the wall, and he fainted; but when he came to, he heard the woman's confession. Now, if people know that it is necessary to go, what fools they are to put it off till they are utterly irresponsible!"

Here are some rather incoherent lines on the margin of his journal—

1.
"Seven thousand years have fled, the primal day
Since, Lufifi, thou wast evangelized.
How didst thou fall? say, mooncalf, say.
Seven thousand years! and yet hast not had time
To think the thoughts that take an hour to rhyme?

2.
"Was it ambition lost thee Heaven? all
That makes an angel worse than human fool?
Or was it pride? But pride must have a fall,
Learns every schoolboy in each Sunday school.
Can such base passion rule abstract minds?"

"This influx continued for several days. My wife and I went about our usual business, writing, calling, driving, and the principal amusement was watching the trains fill up with terrified people, some of them very scantily dressed, wrapped in a bed-curtain tied up with a bell-rope. I enjoyed it as much as a schoolboy, for I took notes and caricatured them in their light costumes. Although there were only three severe shocks, the ground seemed to suffer from a chronic trembling, that kept people in a continuous state of nervous agitation, and a few sensitives declared they could perceive distinct exhalations which made them sea-sick. We perceived it till we got to Milan, which was off the line of earthquake—that was not till twenty-five days after; and it was noticeable there that on the 20th of March all the clocks stopped at 12.40 owing to excess of electricity.

"His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales showed his accustomed coolness in time of danger; he dressed leisurely before leaving his apartment. As I said, my wife and I had had ample experience of earthquakes in various quarters of the globe, and remained quiet till the upheavals were over, and afterwards went to call upon our friends."

Dr. Frank, thinking I had got a "fad," did not hurry, but, passing by on his rounds, thought he would look in and say good-bye. He stayed with us half an hour, assured us that Richard was all right and as sound as a bell, and was just feeling his pulse once more preparatory to saying good-bye. While his pulse was being held, poor Richard had one of the most awful fits of epileptiform convulsions (the only one he ever had in all his life), an explosion of gout. It lasted about half an hour, and I never saw anything so dreadful, though Dr. Frank assured me he did not suffer, but seemed doubtful as to whether he would recover. When Dr. Frank told me that he thought it doubtful he might not recover, I was seized with a panic lest he might not have been properly baptized, and asking Dr. Frank if I might do so, he said, "You may do anything you like." I got some water, and knelt down and saying some prayers, I baptized him. Soon the blackness disappeared, the limbs relaxed, he opened his eyes, and said, "Hallo! there's the luncheon bell; I want my luncheon." Dr. Frank said, "No, Burton, not to-day; you have been a little faint." "Have I?" he said. "How funny! I never felt anything." To make a long story short, that was the beginning of his being a real invalid. As soon as he was well enough to be spoken to about his condition, I told him what I had done, and he looked up with an amused smile, and he said, "Now that was very superfluous, if you only knew;" and after a pause he said, "The world will be very much surprised when I come to die," but he did not explain his meaning. I did not know the full significance of it; I could only guess. There were attending upon him, Dr. Frank who managed his case; Dr. Legg came once, but Dr. Brandt and Dr. Grenfell-Baker (who was there for his health) came every day and relieved guard, Dr. Brandt sleeping there at night. I had a trained nurse, Sister Aurélie of the Bon Secours, Lisa my maid, and myself always, so that he was well looked after.

Dr. Frank found that it was impossible for me to move without a travelling doctor. Richard strenuously resisted it for several days, saying "he should hate to have a stranger in the house; that we should never be by ourselves; that we should have an outsider always spying upon us, who would probably quarrel with us, or hate one or both of us, and make mischief, and confide all our little domestic affairs to the world in general; that a third was always in a nondescript position." Now, this was a risk we had to run; but I argued that if we put by £2000 of our "Arabian Nights" money and gave ourselves four years of doctor (till 1891, unless he previously got quite strong), that it would tide him over the worst crisis of his life into a strong old age, and that as soon as he was free from Government, and we settled down at home, we should be in the land of doctors, and free to live by ourselves again, and to do what he liked, which had already been arranged for 1891. He then consented. I telegraphed to England, and Dr. Ralph Leslie was sent to us. As soon as the case was handed over to him, we commenced our Via Crucis to Trieste.

It was astonishing, in spite of malady, what wonderful cool nerve Richard had in any accident or emergency.

"I was not fated to escape so easily. Just as we were packed up and on the point of starting for Nice to see the ruins, and we were in the act of saying good-bye to our old friend of twenty-four years, Dr. Frank, I was suddenly struck down by an acute attack of cerebral congestion, the result of suppressed gout. For a time I was ordered to be kept absolutely quiet, confined to bed and sofa with a diet of broth and bromide, milk and soda-water, and was carefully nursed. My wife felt that though she had successfully nursed me through seven long illnesses since our marriage, that this was a case beyond her ken. Dr. Frank also explained to me that circumstances might arise which would require an educated finger to feel the pulse, and to give instant remedies, where all the tenderness and care of my wife's nursing would be without avail. So, after strenuously opposing a course which I felt would be a grievous burthen to our lives, and be a most unpleasant change, I saw reason in it, and I allowed her to telegraph to London for a physician who was on the look-out for a travelling appointment, and was skilled in such matters, to take temporary charge of my case. In contending on this subject, she said, 'How many valuable lives are lost by friends saying, "If you are not better by to-morrow, we must send for the doctor;" or in the night, "When it is light we will send for the doctor"! Remember poor H——.' She was obstinate in her determination not to risk these things, and resolved to lose no chance of passing me through my three or four years' crisis into a sound old age. A man living in London, surrounded by the ablest doctors in the world, may dispense with this disagreeable luxury; not so, however, an exile in a foreign port town. A foreign doctor, however clever, finds it difficult to treat an Englishman, only because he has never understood or never studied a Britisher. I think, if it had not been for my wife, I should have died of inanition in my first two long attacks of gout, eight months in the winter 1883 and 1884, and three months of 1885. From the two first in Trieste I rose a perfect skeleton, which made me determine never to spend another winter there, even if I had to leave the Service. However, the Foreign Office, which has ignored me in every way else, has been merciful about 'leave,' and I hope to be a free man in March, and a Londoner in September, 1891.

"The Trieste apothecary can seldom make up English recipes, Either he has not the needful drugs, or he needs four or five days to get them, and he sells the worst quality at the highest prices. English drugs are considered strong enough to kill.

Our Journey with Dr. Leslie.

"On the eleventh day from the attack, Dr. Ralph Leslie, of Toronto, arrived. He visited all the doctors, took over the case, and stocked his medicine chest. We were able to leave Cannes on the 9th of March. We went to the Hôtel Victoria, Monte Carlo, because it was quieter than those near the gaming-tables. Here we took drives, and I became much better. We drove to Mentone to see the ruins, but we both got seedy going along—a sort of stifling—and just as we drove into the town there was another earthquake. Poor people were rushing into the streets bringing out their mattresses, carriages flying in all directions. We drove over the town and inspected everything, but did not put up for fear of a repetition of Cannes, so we drove back to Monte Carlo. Clouds gathered over Mentone. At midnight there was another shock. We were both seedy about eighteen hours, and my wife could feel the gases, I only the palpitation of the earth.

"On the 14th of March we drove over to Nice, and I was able to stand an excursion of six hours, and felt almost perfectly well. I had loads of visitors—Mr. Wickham, Mr. Myers (Professor Sayce's friend), and Father Wolfe, S.J. We only went once to the gaming-tables, and thought it very slow. My better half lost eighty-five francs in ten minutes. We determined after several days to start from Monte Carlo to Genoa. It was a big business for me, and we started by a 5.20 p.m. train. The trains had to crawl past the towns for fear of shaking down the buildings that remained, so that I was nine hours out, and as I had to be carried from the train to my carriage, which had been telegraphed for, another English family did me, and had got into it, and thereby also got our rooms and our supper; and when we arrived, they had to get us other rooms, and a bouillon for me, and we did not get to bed till two, but next day we got very good rooms.

"On the 18th of March we saw the death in the papers (as no one knew our whereabouts) of our poor uncle, Lord Gerard, and we were both very sad and agitated.

"Our next great move was to Milan, where everything was ready for us. At Milan there was still a great deal of electricity in the air, but thank God we were off the line of earthquakes.

"After staying some time at Milan, we moved on to Venice, and the air there, being of such a mild nature, immediately began to do me good. I could go out in gondolas, and took a little walk in the Piazzetta, and enjoyed it, and received visits from my friends, and on the 31st of March I passed a nice day without pain; on that day I bought a little Knight in armour. From Venice my wife telegraphed to our Vice-Consul, Mr. P. P. Cautley, to change the whole of the house, putting me in the rooms with the best climate, and reserving for ourselves a private apartment of six rooms, divided from the rest of the house and in the balmy corner.

"On the 5th of April I was able to write a little, and that day we went on to Trieste.

"The details of our melancholy journey will, I fear, scarcely interest any one but ourselves. It was a real Via Crucis, as I had to be ambulanced the whole way, and, being very weak, we were twenty-eight days accomplishing the twenty-eight hours of express train which lie between Cannes and Trieste, which was only varied by minor earthquakes till we reached Milan; at Genoa by the agitation of seeing Lord Gerard's death in the newspaper, and my wife having a large blood-cyst on her lip, which appeared soon after my fit, and which Dr. Leslie had to cut out at Milan. It was indeed a road of anguish and labour, and right thankful were we to find ourselves once more in our own home on the 5th of April, after being out ten months.

"Our climate is one sui generis; it is a perpetual alternative of the raw north-easter, called the Bora, and the muggy south-western, called Scirocco. The former often causes the quays to be roped, in order to prevent pedestrians being raised in the air and thrown into the sea, and within the last eighteen years it has upset two mail trains. Then there is the Contraste, when the two blow together, one against another, making a buffer of the human body. The Scirocco is a dry wind from the North African desert, and arrives at Trieste saturated with water, but still containing the muggy oppressing sensation so well known to travellers in Algiers, Tunis, and Marocco. Moreover, the old town is undrained, the quay is built over nine several sewers, some of large size, and it is said that the new town of Trieste is built upon ninety-two feet of old sewage, consequently the normal death-rate is at the lowest, thirty-five per thousand per annum, nearly double the amount of London, and in more than one winter it has ranged from seventy-five to eighty-five. Foreign residents here remark that a process of acclimatization must take place whenever they leave Trieste or return to it. However, on this occasion it did not maltreat me; indeed, an improvement in my case began at Venice, and continued when I reached my post."

We had some visits, and amongst other literary celebrities, Dr. MacDowall, and Madame Emily de Laszouska, née Gerard, Dr. Bohndorf, and Dr. Oscar Lenz and wife, African travellers; General Buckle, Madame Nubar, and Madame Artin Pasha. We used to sit a great deal in our garden, or in the gardens of Miramar, where he wrote on the margin of his tablets—

"F. G. HACKE'S NEW IDEA IN WORDS.

"'And is the sea alone? Even now
I hear faint mutterings.'
''Tis the waves' mysterious distant whisper,
Response of words like voice of the sea,
Communing with its kind.'
'It seems a murmur sweeping low,
And hurrying through the distant caves;
I hear again that smothered tone,
As if the sea were not alone.'"

We went as usual to Opçina, the Slav village of the Karso, to the Jäger, to Duino to visit the Princesses Hohenlöhe, and received many visitors of all nations, many of them exceedingly interesting.

On the 19th, 20th, 21st, and 22nd of June we made grand gala for the Jubilee. An address was drawn up and sent to her Majesty. The first day was devoted to service in the Protestant Church, which we attended officially; on the second we had a banquet and ball at the Jäger. Richard took the chair at dinner. He was brought down to dinner by his doctor, where he made a most loyal and original speech, which I insert; immediately after dinner he was taken upstairs again. It was the only occasion on which he would ever consent to wear his order of St. Michael and St. George.

"Her Majesty's Jubilee at Trieste.

"The British subjects residing at Trieste have sent an address to her Majesty, signed by the whole colony, bound in dark red velvet, surmounted by the word 'Trieste' in gold letters.

"They collected a considerable amount amongst themselves, part of the Women's fund to go to the Queen's General Fund, and the rest to a local charity for distressed English.

"On the morning of the 20th there was divine service in the Protestant Church, which commenced with 'God save the Queen.' There was scarcely a dry eye in the church. Many of those present had not been home for thirty years or more.

"In the evening a grand banquet of seventy-five covers was presided over by Captain Sir Richard and Lady Burton, the vice-president being the Rev. Mr. Thorndike, the Consular Chaplain. All the members of the Consulate, Mr. P. P. Cautley, British Vice-Consul (now acting because of Sir Richard's recent illness), and Mr. Nicolas Salvari, assisting.

"The magnificent hall of the Jäger was adorned with flags, flowers, and lights; the centre-piece being the Queen's portrait, peeping out of a forest of laurels. Maestro Piccoli's band played during the banquet.

"Sir Richard Burton (who wore for the first time his decoration of St. Michael and St. George), although in very feeble health, rose to give the toast of the evening, and made a speech which caused every heart to dilate with pride and loyalty. He said—

Richard's Speech.

"'We are about to drink the health of the greatest Lady in the land! To-night is a great night for us, and a proud one! All the world is assembled to-night throughout the globe to do honour to one Woman, the only woman in history who for fifty years' glorious reign, as Wife, as Mother, as Sovereign, as Widow, as Mother of her people, has been a shining light in each of these capacities to the whole world!

"'This woman is our Queen! (Cheering.)

"'An English man or woman says with emotion, "My Queen!" Why? Because she is enthroned in our hearts, she is enthroned on our domestic hearths, as if she belonged to each one of us separately and singly. When we say "Our Queen!" we say it with pride, for we feel that we clasp hands all round the world, from England to our independent American cousins, to Canada, to India, to Australia, to New Zealand, more than half the globe being English-speaking peoples—one great Nation held together by one great Woman! (Cheers.)

"'An English man or woman may be individually mean and little; but they can never be so as a Nation. A man is mostly what his mother makes him. Show me a man noble, brave, loyal, strong, and true, and I can form a pretty good idea of the mother who bred him! (Hear, hear.)

"'We are singularly fortunate in the women of our Royal Family. Look at our Nation's idol, the Princess of Wales! That lady has been the pivot of greatness and attraction for over twenty-four years, with every eye fixed upon her; yet none have ever heard her say one word, none have ever seen her do, aught but what befitted a Queen! And what perhaps all do not know is, that although she may have been in public all day, perhaps tired, perhaps suffering, perhaps obliged to be in Society a greater part of the night, she never once omitted (so long as her children were little) to go into her nursery every evening at a certain hour to hear them say their prayers at her knee, lest those little prayers should ever become a mockery—just as any homely mother amongst us would do, if she had good sound sense and a womanly heart. (Hear, hear.)

"'With such women as these, we may confidently look forward to a long line of great kings, and feel that England's future strength and greatness, despite wars, despite political troubles, will endure to all time! (Cheers.)

"'Let nothing mar our conviviality to-night. Many of us may not see for years such a reunion in Trieste, some of us—never; but we shall be able, in future time, to close our eyes, and see in fancy dreams, all these kindly, beaming faces around us.

"'Let us unite in affectionate loyalty and reverence, in thankfulness, for the peace, prosperity, and advancement in civilization and humanity, which our Queen's fifty years' unique reign has brought to us and to the whole world.

"'May God's choicest blessings crown her good works! May she be spared for many long, happy, peaceful, and prosperous years to her loyal, devoted people! May her mantle descend upon her children and her children's children! And may the loving confidence between her Majesty and all English-speaking peoples, throughout the world, ever strengthen and endure to all time!

"'Now let Trieste hear for once, with one heart and one voice, a true British cheer!

"'Her Majesty the Queen!'

"This toast was drunk with an enthusiasm equal to the demand, so that the hall and woods rang again with 'Hip! Hip! Hip! Hurrah!' and cries of 'The Queen!' 'The Queen!' which lasted several minutes.

"Sir Richard then rose once more, and gave 'The Emperor and the Empress of Austria, whose guests we are! the Lord of the Land we live in!'

"The Rev. Mr. Thorndike made two charming speeches, the first in proposing the health of the Prince and Princess of Wales, and all the Royal Family, which was received with enthusiasm; the second in proposing the health of President Cleveland of the United States (the American Consul-General, Mr. Gilbert, and his predecessor, Mr. Thayer, being the only strangers invited). The respective national anthems were played after each of these four toasts.

"The healths of Sir Richard and Lady Burton were then enthusiastically drank, and as by this time Sir Richard was very fatigued, Lady Burton rose and returned thanks. Mr. Thayer then recited some of his own poetry in England's praise, very prettily done, showing the difference between the time of Queen Elizabeth and that of Queen Victoria.

"The Rev. Mr. Thorndike's health was then drank, and that of Mr. Cautley, Acting-Consul.

"The banquet was followed by songs executed by Miss Agnes Thorndike, who has a magnificent voice. 'God save the Queen' was sung with true devotion by the seventy-five English; then followed the ball, which was kept up with great spirit, and which was concluded with 'Sir Roger de Coverley' just before dawn.

"On the night of the 21st the British Consulate, Sir Richard Burton's private house, and the dwellings of most of the British residents, were brilliantly illuminated. Telegrams, letters, and cards of congratulation continued to pour in from all quarters. Mr. and Mrs. Craig had an evening fête with illuminated garden for forty English children on the 22nd, and this terminated the three days' festivities at Trieste.

"June 23rd, 1887."

Richard loved our house, and was always lamenting that we could not put it on wheels, and take it about with us wherever we went, because for Richard there were really a great many drawbacks in Trieste.

One of our amusements was to buy a lot of caged birds in the market, and taking them up to our rooms and letting them fly. It was such a pleasure to see them darting into the air with a thrill of joy; and if they were in any ways maimed, there was an almond tree just outside our window, and touching it, on which they used to hop until they recovered themselves.

He used now to take long walks with the doctor, and when he was tired he used to get a lift in a passing cart. Once, when we were up at Opçina, Daneu's poor little boy, only six years of age, broke his leg, which upset us all the more because he was so brave. He never cried, even during the setting.