However, Richard took it into his head that as Ramsgate has such a reputation for air, we would go and try it; so on the 3rd of August we went to the Granville, where we stopped for a week, taking drives to Margate, to St. Peter's, and Westgate, to see Admiral Beamish, or to Deal, Sandgate, where we tried to see Mr. Clarke Russell, and Broadstairs, in each of which we found friends or cousins. We did not think much of the Granville Hotel, having been thoroughly spoiled by the best hotels abroad; but our great amusement was that, having lived so much away from home, we knew nothing about Bank Holiday, and found ourselves landed in a hundred and fifty thousand of the people for four days, and Richard's delight was to go and sit on the sands and watch them—the Salvation Army, the niggers, the performers with ventriloquist-heads stuck on poles; but we were immensely edified, for although here and there there was a little rough play, there was not a single case of drunkenness. After a week the air proved too strong for Richard, and we went back, this time to the Langham Hotel.

Here we had a most pleasant time, for, in spite of its being August, old friends and relatives came and lunched and dined with us every day, which cheered Richard up immensely; and our friend F. F. Arbuthnot joined us, and passed a week in the hotel, and amongst others were Mr. John Payne, Du Chaillu, Mr. Henry Irving, Swinburne, Mr. Theodore Watts, and others. Dr. Baker came back eventually, and we went off to Oxford, where Richard delighted in driving round to all the Colleges, and where we met numbers of old friends—Mr. Arthur Evans and his wife, Mr. Chandler, Professor Sayce, etc. From there we went to the Queen's Hotel, Norwood, to be near Richard's sister and niece for a fortnight, and enjoy the Crystal Palace.

A Norwood treat was having a clairvoyante down from London, who pronounced on our health. She told Richard that he was bad in the head, eyes, down the back of neck, stomach, feet, and legs; that I had cancer; that I had healing powers, powerful light from heaven, a red cross above me, a large protection and light from above, with troops of friends and patrons. The cancer prophecy made Richard unhappy, till he saw how little I believed in it. The drives were to Dulwich and to Croydon, to see Commander Cameron and his wife. One particular treat we had was going to Colonel Goureaud's, who gave us a field-day with the Eddison phonograph, which we had seen in its infancy in 1878 in Dublin. Richard thought that it opened a wonderful future in science. He offered to do the muezzin's call to prayer, "Allahu Akbar," into a phonograph; somehow it was not done. What a treasure it would be now!

After a fortnight we went back to the Langham, which we liked thoroughly. We saw our last of Lawrence Oliphant about the 1st of September. In London Dr. Baker had several consultations for Richard with Dr. Mortimer Granville, who took infinite pains with him, and gave him a long and careful examination. Dr. Mortimer Granville said he was as sound as a bell, barring the gout. And that day, the 23rd of September, he insisted on going to the club by himself, and he did so several times whilst he remained in London. It was a relief to him to feel that he could do something of former times.

It would seem as if we were always changing our abode; and so it was. His magnetism was so immense, his brain travelled so fast, absorbed so quickly, that he sucked dry all his surroundings, whether place, scenery, people, or facts, before the rest of us had settled down to realize whether we liked a place or not. When he arrived at this stage everything was flat to him, and he would anxiously say, "Do you think I shall live to get out of this, and to see another place?" And I used regularly to say, "Of course you will. Let us go to-day, if you feel like that;" and that would quiet him so far that he would say, "Oh no; say next Monday or Tuesday;" and then we went. During the latter days of his life, this restlessness became absolutely part of his complaint, and we used to seem to be moving on every week. One of his peculiarities was that he never would remain one moment in the hotel behind me. We used to plan to divide our work. I did all the courier's work, and the doctor took care of my husband. I used to go down to the stations or the steamers, with Lisa, a full hour before time, to take the tickets, weigh the baggage, procure a compartment for our party alone, telegraph forward for carriage, for rooms, and meals, so that his journey might go on oiled wheels, and Dr. Baker was to follow with him to save fatigue, getting him in five minutes before the start. We never could manage this; he would not let me go away one single instant before him, but used to jump into the same carriage.

The chief things Richard notes on this visit were as follows:—

"But on the 15th we left Geneva for Paris—when Zotenberg dined with us (at Folkestone I saw my sister)—and London, which we reached on the 20th of July, after nearly two years' absence, and lodged at the St. James's Hotel, Piccadilly. Literary work awaited us both, and I was again obliged to run the risk and dangers of the Bodleian at Oxford; but this time I had my wife and Dr. Baker with me, and I escaped all the evil results.

"During the time we were in London we had luncheons and dinners every day for our friends. It is no use giving a long list of names, but most of them were the most interesting people in London. We were also asked out immensely into Society, and in the daytime we accepted; but we made a rule now, on account of my health, never to accept a dinner or evening invitation, because I was obliged to dine at 7.30 and go to bed at 9.30, and my wife would not leave me. Amongst others, we had the pleasure at Lady Henry Gordon Lennox's of meeting Mr. Villiers, a brilliant relic of the old school, and my wife was fortunate enough to be taken in to lunch by him.

"On the 21st of August we went down to Bromley Holwood to see Lord and Lady Derby; they showed us Pitt's old house, the oak under which Pitt organized the abolition of slavery, Pitt's writing table, and a doll which the Queen gave to Lady Derby when she was Lady Mary West."

He writes on the 22nd of September:—

"To-day my wife was sent for to the Austro-Hungarian Embassy to receive from Count Lützow a very beautiful portrait of the Empress of Austria, in approval of her life and works. This has made me very proud and her very happy."

In October we went down to Newmarket, to see my cousins Lord and Lady Gerard, where we met some very pleasant people, and where Richard was very much interested going to the training ground, and saw hundreds of racehorses taking their gallops, and Captain Machell and Colonel Oliver Montagu explained everything to us.

We stayed at Boulogne. He was very fond of it; it agreed with him, and he liked to go over all the old haunts where we had met as young people, and his old fencing school too. He writes: "My old fencing-master Constantin is eighty, with a young bright eye." On the 29th of October, 1888, we went to Paris, also for the last time, and here at breakfast and dinner we generally had Professor Zotenberg (who gave us an always-remembered breakfast at the Lion d'Or), or Professor Houdas, or Mr. Barnard of the New York Herald—all who knew things that were interesting to him. We went on from there to Geneva by the train de luxe to the Hôtel Nationale, which was as nice as could be. On the 19th of November, after dinner, the chandelier fell on the dinner-table, the gas rushed out, and waiters went to fetch a lamp. This happened to us two winters running. Geneva is a charming place in winter, and agreed well with Richard, who was again enabled to enjoy his days with Karl Vogt. We got to know very pleasant society and had delightful drives—one to Ferney (château of Voltaire) and the Voirons. After he left England in 1888, his health got ever so much better, and I had confident hopes that he would last for many years. Here Richard made his last public lecture. The Geneva Geographical Society asked him to speak, and he had a regular ovation. At first he was very nervous and tired, but he wound up as he went on, and, like our Society, at the end he was asked to sit down, and everybody who felt inclined got up and asked him questions, which he answered. The meeting was very cordial. There are some very distinguished men in Geneva, and all the best Society, when you have pierced the outer crust, tends to serious life, study, and acquiring information. On the 1st of December we went on to Vevey, where we found Madame Nubar Pasha. Monsieur Albert de Montêt, a member of one of the great families—a young man, but learned—came frequently to breakfast. We stopped at the Hôtel du Lac on the Lake, but it was too damp, so we went up to Mooser's, which was delightful. Here I was asked to lecture at the house of the great family of the place—the De Couvreurs, and it was just a repetition of the one at the Geographical Society in Geneva.

"The Position at Suákin.

"To the Editor of the Times.

"Sir,—The decisive defeat of the dervish invader unsieges Suákin, but the chronic difficulties of our false position are by no means diminished. We cannot evacuate the unhealthy, wretched slave port, because it would immediately be occupied by rivals or enemies, and our unwritten compact with the Egyptian Government binds us to retain it. But occupation under the existing circumstances means simply a protracted state of petty warfare, and troubles will recur at regular intervals, until one party or the other will prefer to give way.

"The grievance of the Soudanese tribes is most reasonable. They have a racial and inherited hate and dread of the Egyptian and of the Turk, and they will never rest until they rid 'Blackland' of them. I found the same feeling prevalent throughout the Somali country, and at Harar, where my greatest danger was of being mistaken for an Osmanli.

"To make the game worth the candle, we must clear Suákin of its Egyptian clique, and re-embark the last Egyptian soldier en route for the Nile Valley. I would not expose British troops to the abominable climate of the Red Sea littoral; but I think that, after the fighting is fought, the Indian sepoy could resist the exile till such time as we can make peace with the tribes, raise, arm, and discipline a native Soudanese contingent, and settle the country on the firm basis of commerce and friendly intercourse. And note that the sepoy is more feared in Egypt than the British soldier; the latter has a scornful dislike to shed black blood, whereas the former shows no such weakness.

"I see that the 'basest of kingdoms'—for such Egypt has become once more—officially objects to the return of Mr. Wylde, and that our authorities have, as usual, admitted the preposterous demand. Mr. Wylde has committed the unpardonable sin of publishing two volumes of home-truths. He has shown up the wild Suákin clique; he has accounted for our military failures; he has unsparingly denounced the jobbery and corruption which disgrace our petty district wars. He is loved neither by civil administrators nor by military incapables, and he is the bête noir of railroad contractors and others of the same genus. But he has shown us the way out of our difficulties—that is, if we choose to adopt the results of his long and extensive experience. But the Soudan question is becoming, like its Eastern kinsfolk, easy enough to be settled, whenever settlement shall become necessary; and, meanwhile, it is a permanent malady most profitable to the faculty. Without it what would become of the diplomatists and the host of little nationalities and individuals who delight to fish in troubled waters, and who would starve in the calm of peace and quiet?

"To my countrymen I would say, 'Englishmen, at least be humane. The Soudanese tribes never had any quarrel with you. They knew you only as the folk who came among them to shoot big game. They entertained you hospitably, and they freely lent themselves to all your fads. With indescribable levity you attacked these gallant and noble Negroids, who were doing battle for liberty, for their hearths and homes, and for freedom from the Egyptian tax-gatherer and from the Turkish despoiler. You threw yourselves, unlike your forefathers, who dearly loved fair play, on the strongest side, and you aided in oppressing the weak by a most unholy war. You have cast an indelible blot upon the fair fame of England. With your breech-loading rifles and Gatling guns you attacked these gallant races; but Allah sometimes defends the right, and you have had more than once to flee before men armed with a miserable spear and a bit of limp leather by way of a shield. Your errors were those of ignorance. Do not persist in them now that you have learnt the truth. After dispersing the dervishes, seize the earliest opportunity of showing your magnanimity, and come to terms with the gallant enemy, upon the express condition that no Egyptian official, civil or military, shall ever pollute the land with his presence. And if this step fail (but it will not fail) to restore peace, you will at least have offered the best atonement for the bloody misdeeds of the past.

"In advocating this treatment of the Suákin affairs, I presume that the public is no longer blinded about our occupation of Egypt. We entered the country for a purpose which, as all experts know, was perfectly Utopian. We shall not teach the Moslems of the Nile Valley our civilization, nor shall we Christianize even the Christian Copts. We shall remain among them upon sufferance. We shall even be welcome, after a fashion, to the Fellah so long as we half tax him, and abate the nuisance of the Pasha and the Bey and the Greek village usurer. But this means that we must continue there for an indefinite time. The embarkation of the last British soldier will be followed by horrors far surpassing the worst 'plagues of Egypt' in the olden days.

"I am, sir, yours faithfully,

"Richard F Burton.

"(Vevey,) December 21st, 1888."

Extract from a cutting.

"We have had enough of these sickening massacres. Sir Richard Burton, who knows the Egyptian to the bone, and who is a second Gordon in his knowledge of the Soudan and its people, has declared that it is folly to expect Fellah troops, officered by Europeans, to fight against any Mahdi. He foresaw the present disaster when he wrote that nothing that Sir Evelyn Wood or Baker Pacha might do 'could prevail against Fellah superstition.'"

On Christmas Eve, 1888, we amused ourselves with putting our stockings outside the door, like the children, for Santa Claus, and we all filled each other's with little presents; but the two greatest amusements were that my contribution to my husband's stocking was only a birch-rod, i.e. a bonbonnière made exactly like a birch-rod, the goodies being in the handle. He was delighted with this, and I found it amongst his treasures after his death. The other was that (of course) we all filled Lisa's stocking to repletion, and she got some very pretty things. So she said, "Oh, I like this game! I never saw it before; I shall put my stocking out every night." She thought they would always come. On Christmas Day we had egg-nogg with the Montgomerys, our ex-American Consul of Trieste.

"Richard's Notes from Vevey.

"Montreux, January 10th, 1889.

"I noticed, like all tourists, two inscriptions, public and modern, and was informed by my hospitable Veveysan friends that both are based upon erroneous 'Factology.'

"No. 1, placed behind the Halle aux Blés, to the north of the Place du Marché, runs:—

'Ici
Jean Jacques Rousseau logea en 1732.'

"No. 2, which has more interest for Englishmen, runs thus:—

"'Ici habitait
Edmund Ludlow,
Lieut.-Général, Membre du Parlement Anglais,
Défenseur des Libertés de son Pays.
L'illustre Proscrit avait fait placer
cette Inscription sur la Porte de sa Demeure,
"omne solum forti patria quia patris."
Energiquement protégé par les Autorités
et accueilli avec sympathie par les habitants
de Vevey, Edmund Ludlow a vécu
dans cette ville de 1662 à 1693,
année de sa mort.'

Discussing about Ludlow.

"The place pointed out to me is No. 49, Rue du Lac, occupied by the Imprimérie Loertscher et Fils, which still prints the famous Messager Noiteux, an almanack dating from 1707. The alley setting off to the north, and called 'Ruelle des Anciens Fossés de la Ville,' shows that the exiles were then lodged outside the town, and consequently a strict guard was necessary for their safety. Lausanne failing in this matter, Mr. John Lisle, M.P., another of the gallant band, was there shot in the back by a hired assassin.

"Ludlow returned to England in 1689, before the accession of Charles II., risked his life for nearly two years, and finally hurried back to Vevey in 1690, or three years before his death (aged seventy-two). Possibly he may then have lodged at the place noted by the epigraph. There is a local legend known to all—even to the guide-books—that early in the present century an English couple introduced themselves as 'Mr. and Mrs. Ludlow' to M. Grenier, who had bought the house from M. Cottier, the successor of M. Dubois. While the lady remained pleasantly chatting with the ancient proprietor, the gentleman slipped out of the room and carried off the wooden tablet bearing the epigraph, 'Omne solum,' etc.

"Vevey behaved with characteristic hospitality and the true Switzer's love of liberty in protecting the 'regicides' against the bravos of Savoy, paid with English gold by the Merry (and most unchivalrous) Monarch. She should take more pride in this one heroic action than in having harboured a host of royalties and quasi-royalties—the Empress Maria Federowna, the Kings of Bavaria, Wurtemburg, and the Netherlands, Princes Alexander and George of Prussia, Princess de Lignitz, the Grand-Duchess Anne of Russia, and many a minor star. She also, at the instance of Mistress Ludlow, gave to her guests their last homes under her most honoured roof—the church of St. Martin (built in A.D. 1498). The five rest side by side in the northern aisle—Andrew Boughton and John Phelps (clerks to the Court, who read out the death-sentence), Gawler, Love, and Ludlow. The latter has a memorial tablet on the northern wall over his grave, surmounted by a most un-Puritan crest—a lion rampant—and (therein) he 'winged his way to the eternal mansions.' Phelps has also a brand-new slab of black marble facing eastwards, set up by two Anglo-American kinsmen of the same name. Broughton, who 'slept in the Lord,' was placed under the aisle-pavement, and all the other gravestones are hidden by a boarding which we hope to see removed as soon as the fine old pile, whose massive masonry is splitting, and whose western portal and huge belfry with turreted angles are palpably sloping northwards, shall have found certain funds for repairs now necessary. The view from the church terrace is inimitable. Here no art can equal nature, and it is a sufficient illustration of Mendelssohn's dictum (Lady Wallace, p. 96), 'The Swiss can paint no beautiful scenery, precisely because they have it the whole day before their eyes.'

"R. F. Burton.

"P.S.—In reading Ludlow's memoirs we must beware of his truly British cacography—e.g. Baron de Chatteler (for Chattelard, vol. iii. p. 153), Tunno (for Thonon, in Chablais, p. 157), and Ouches (for Ouchy, port of Lausanne, p. 158).

"Correction (which he notes in journal).—Several correspondents have written to point out some manifest errors of date in Sir R. F. Burton's 'Notes from Vevey,' in the Academy of last week. In the Ludlow inscription, the date of his arrival at Vevey should clearly be '1662,' and not 1642; and the passage, 'Ludlow returned to England in 1689, before the accession of Charles II.,' should apparently run—'Ludlow returned to England in 1688, before the accession of William and Mary.'"

"Notes from Lausanne.

"Lausanne, February 24th, 1889.

"The Academy of February 2 contains two corrections of my 'Notes from Vevey,' one error being typographical, and the other an infelix culpa, the result of inordinate carelessness. As your correspondent remarks, 1642 should be 1662; and I find, by inspection, the date so recorded upon Ludlow's tablet. The second passage should be read, 'Ludlow returned to England about mid 1689, shortly after the accession of William and Mary.' Your correspondent proposes, 'Ludlow returned to England in 1688;' but the following official letter, kindly furnished by M. Albert de Montêt, shows this also to be an error. The General's report of his intended journey, addressed to their Excellencies the Seigneurs de Berne, with its queer French, quaintly Anglicized and Roundheaded, may perhaps interest some of your readers.

"'Lettre de Ludlow au Conseil de Vevey, du 2 Juin, 1689, "Manuaux de la Ville, L.," p. 103.

"'Mes très honnorés Seigneurs! Le Seigneur qui m'a pourveu (sic), avec plusieurs autres de mes compagnons en mes souffrances et exil pour la parolle et le témoignage de Jésus, d'un asile très favorable: en nous conduisant par la colonne de feu sous votre bénin et equitable government, m'appelant aujourd'huy pour faire un tour dans mon pays d'Etat pour y faire mon possible pour fortifier les mains de notre Gédéon, qui est miraculeusement suscité pour nous retirer de la maison de servitude et démolir l'autel de Baal contre ceux qui prennent la querelle pour luy (soi?) et choisissent plustôt de se mettre soubs l'arbre de l'Espine que soubs l'équitable domination du roy de la justice et du prince de paix. Ayant par la grande bonté de Dieu depuis plusieurs années, entre autres providences signalées et spéciales, amplement et pleinement expérimenté les effets de la très gracieuse réception à notre première arrivée en cette ville, qu'il vous a plu de nous signiffier par feu M. le Banderent De Montet de votre part, comme membre du même corps avec yous auquel Christ et (est?) le chef, je me trouve obligé devant que je parte pour l'Angleterre, ignorant les choses qui m'y doivent arriver, de vous en témoigner ma très humble recognoissance vous suppliant de l'accepter jusqu'à ce que l'occasion se présente pour le manifester plus réelement, vous asseurant que je ne manqueray pass de s'en (m'en?) préveloir pour vous faire voir à tous en général et à chacun en particulier que je seray tenu ma vie comme obligé d'estre, Très honnorés Seigneurs Votre très humble, très fidelle et très obéissant serviteur.

"'(Signed) EDM. LUDLOWE (sic).'

Richard's Remarks on Lausanne.

"To an Englishman at Lausanne, Gibbon is still the prime subject of local interest. I had also been assured that many imprinted autographs remain in private hands, despite the mass of correspondence published in the 'Life and Letters,' pp. 178-356, by Mr. W. J. Day, London, F. Warne (undated). But I repeat that the traveller must as often discover what there is not as determine what there is.

"An introduction to M. William de Charrière de Sévery (the grandson of M. Wilhelm de Sévery, Gibbon's familiar and legatee) convinced me that rumour had exaggerated. He has a few notes, a single bundle, mostly private, if not confidential; and the same is the case with Mdme. Grenier-Bourgeois. The 'relics' are most interesting. We were shown the favourite writing-paper, letter-sized, gilt-edged, and rough, fit only for the goose-quill, of which a few ink-stained specimens are preserved; the cards, playing and others, upon which notes to intimates were generally written in a schoolboy hand, stiff and tall; a long list of linen for bedding, etc., proving business habits; and the last will and testament (October 1, 1791), covering three pages foolscap-sized—of the latter Mr. Day (p. 176) prints an abstract. The cellar still contains a few bottles of the 'Malmsey-Madeira' which Gibbon sent for in 1789 (p. 123), and which he had probably to thank for a frightful attack of gout. We were favoured with a sight of the portraits: one the usual Kit-cat in pastels—Lausanne then containing sundry famous pastellistes—a cameo-bust on wedgwood (much idealized), and an aquarelle of 'The Historian' (hideous exceedingly), sitting before the façade of his house at Lausanne, afterwards removed to make way for the Hôtel Gibbon. This, by the way, is a fraud, boasting that its garden contains the identical chestnut tree under which the last lines of a twenty-years' work were written. Unfortunately, the oft-quoted passage describing that event (p. 103) assigns it to 'a summer-house in my garden,' near a berceau, or covered walk of acacias; all of which have long disappeared to make way for the Rue du Midi. Upon the strength of this being 'Gibbon Castle,' we are somewhat overcharged and underfed; and we are convinced that Lausanne wants an establishment, like the admirable 'National' of Geneva, half-way between the City and Ouchy, her port, and not far from 'Christ Church' Square.

"Voltaire is so forgotten by the general world at Lausanne, that even an educational professor ignored his 'philosophical' exile in Switzerland. He left Vaud after a dispute with the ecclesiastical authorities. Yet there are still three places that belong to him: Monrepos, a villa to the north-east, where tradition says the première of 'Zaire' was acted; Maison Gaulis, in the Grand Chêne Street; and Maison Mont-Riond (Round Hill) Dapples (Gibbon's 'D'Apples'). The latter rises east of the historic hillock, crowned with two trees, described in every guide-book. The house, whilom infamous for damp, was drained dry by the Funicular Railway, and is now let to Dr. Niven, whom we last met at Matharan (Bombay). The chief room in the two-storied block is traditionally the theatre. A few yards to the north-west there is also the half of a cottage under an inordinate tile roof, capping clay walls with wooden beams, three stories high at the Lake front. La Casquette, as the artists call their favourite, is, or rather was, a kind of snuggery, whereto Voltaire retired for study in solitude; and yet it is mistermed by sundry of the folk Laboratoire de Rousseau. It is now occupied by a gardener, whose family of twelve, despite overcrowding and bad air, shows signs of exceptional health and strength. I only hope that the Municipality will buy it and rail it round, and preserve it as a relic.

"Richard F Burton.

"N.B. to all who 'undigest'—Avoid any but distilled water at Lausanne, Vevey, Montreux, and throughout the limestone regions of Switzerland."

CHAPTER XV.

AT MONTREUX.

On the 2nd of January, 1889, we moved ourselves to the Hôtel des Alpes at Montreux. The journey is only an hour. It was bitterly cold, but the temperature rose fourteen degrees on the way. Here we had a delightful time, excursioning to the Château de Chillon, to Hôtel Biron, to Villeneuve, les Avants, three thousand feet high, Mont-Fleurie, Glion, etc. But our favourite place seemed to be St. Maurice, where we had several delightful days in the valley of the Rhone, but one particularly to be remembered. Abbé Stercky went with us. He is one of the monks, was Curé of Aigle, and Richard liked him. The little inn is cosy, with its good Dalmatian proprietor, who kept a cheerful room, a blazing wood fire, a capital good breakfast, and a good bottle of Dôle de Valais. We passed a good deal of time in the monastery.

It is the oldest Augustinian monastery in the world, and having Abbé Stercky with us, we saw all the treasures—gold, silver, gems, and onyx treasures from Charlemagne and St. Louis of France; they, and also manuscripts and old books, were shown to us by a gentlemanly and polished monk, Père Bourbord, otherwise they are generally shown by a surly monk, who does not let you see anything. There were a number of very charming people stopping at the hotel, which was crowded for the winter. We all fraternized, and we had extensive afternoon receptions and tea-fights, and in the evenings we all used to contribute something to the amusements—who could sing, sang; who could recite, recited; who could tell stories of foreign lands, did so, and also ghost-stories; and there was music and dancing and acting galore, also theatricals and a musical drill beautifully performed. It was a charming hotel, with every accommodation, plenty of places for smoking, and Richard used to enjoy it thoroughly, parties of men flocking around him.

On the 22nd, our wedding-day, everybody was so good to us; there were presents, and flowers, and little speeches. I got quite choky, and Richard ran away and locked himself up. The next day we gave a big tea-fight, and enjoyed it very much. Richard had now a little return of the gout attack, but it passed off in a few days. The evenings were lovely. I can remember one, nay, many evenings, with a clear sky, the mountain of snow standing out like a vision, lit by a lovely crescent moon and large evening star.

At Chillon we saw the room where Miss Sterling, of the Salvation Army, was imprisoned for talking religion to the children. She had written on the walls, and we often revisited the chapel where so many have suffered.

On the 28th (January) Richard got a letter announcing the death of one of our friends, Mr. Paul Bird; and on the 29th, Carlo Pellegrini.

On the 5th of February came Mr. Lorie, painter, from Egypt.

We were very disappointed to find the Archbishop Mermillod had left for Cannes, being very ill, as I had known him since 1858.

At the hour appointed the door was thrown open, and an announcement was made, which I did not hear, but I immediately left my armchair and my book, and walked over with both hands extended, saying, "Dear Monsieur Réclus, I am so delighted to make your acquaintance; such a pleasure to know such a distinguished man." He received my little speech with profuse bows and cordial thanks, and then pulling a key out of his pocket, he proceeded to wind the clocks. I felt a little surprised, but I thought it was perhaps another of the great man's peculiarities, so I went on talking to him the while, telling him how glad my husband would be to talk geography and science over with him, when the door opened, and a loud voice announced Monsieur Elisée Réclus. I picked myself up in a minute, and immediately performed the same ceremony as before. The clock-winder behaved so beautifully; he never moved a muscle of his face, and when he had finished his work, went out with a lovely bow. This episode delighted Richard and Dr. Baker.

On the 31st of January we had the report of poor Prince Rudolf's death; it threw a gloom over everything. On the 13th arrived Mr. Gustave Oppenheim, an old friend.

It was now that we returned, 1st of March, 1889, to Lucerne, which was another "Snow Hell." We went to the Hôtel Nationale, the only place open, had lovely rooms and good fires, but the rest of it deserved all Richard said of it a while ago.

On the 4th we rose early, quite well, and made all ready to go, and having an hour to wait, sat down to enjoy the fire, when all of a sudden I got an aching in every bone, a bad rash came out, and faint, cold down the spine, hot and cold, nausea; could do nothing but rock and groan, and groaned and rocked the whole eight hours to Milan. I did not know it then, but I know it now, by three subsequent experiences, that I had a sharp attack of influenza, but we did not talk so much about this epidemic in 1889. It was a great mortification that I had to be several days in bed, as one of my cousins and some others were waiting to do a very nice expedition, which I should have thoroughly enjoyed, and had to let them go without me. There was one fortunate thing, that when I was ill, Richard was well; and if he was down, I was always perfectly well and able.

On the 10th we went down to Venice, to the Hôtel Victoria, where we were put in big, damp, dark rooms like catacombs; and on the 12th arrived at Trieste, where I was very weak for a long time.

Though I little contemplated the great catastrophe and break-up of my life in 1890, but with a view to leaving Trieste in July, 1891, I began to wish to collect all possible reminiscences of the home I loved so well. One of the visitors to our Trieste home wrote me: "I think of you so very often, and your lovely home on the shores of the Adriatic, with its rich treasures of mind and heart. It stands out before me like a lighthouse on the sea of life, pointing onwards, upwards, to a higher, nobler state of existence, to which I shall try to reach." These words, which have been differently expressed to me in many different languages, and in this particular case coming from one "who had almost," she says, "lost faith in God," inspire me with great gratitude to God, and make me wish to perpetuate it in oil-painting reminiscences, that it may become part of our lives in our future more prosaic London home.

I now selected from among other artists Mr. Albert Letchford, a young painter of great talent, who had studied in Paris and painted in Egypt, and who began to paint for me, on the 10th of May, the four views from our windows, nine of our favourite "interiors" of rooms, including Richard studying in his bedroom. After that he painted my husband for the Stanley Exhibition, and one life-size, fencing, which I now exhibit in the Grosvenor Gallery.

At this time there occurred the strikes in Austrian-Lloyd's which agitated the country very much, and we expected a revolution, which did not happen. We had also a visit from Count Téleki, who had made his splendid African journey, which was most interesting. On the 12th of May we had a delightful sea-trip to Parenzo with friends (Baron Marco Morpurgo, the then great banker and Director of Lloyd's, and his wife, the best friends Richard and I ever had in Trieste). The object was to visit the old Cathedral of Parenzo, a complicated mixture of most ancient Byzantine, Roman, Grecian, and Venetian. It has three depths of old floors quite distinct. We went over to Duino to stay with the Princess Hohenlöhe and Princess Taxis, a two hours' drive from Trieste, which was our favourite visit in the neighbourhood. We had the pleasure of receiving Count von Würmbrandt, the Governor of Styria, Baron Spaun, and Admiral Sterneck; this was followed by festivities for the Archduke Otto and the Archduchess, and Archduke Leopold. On that occasion Richard was allowed to go out in the evening to the Morpurgos' fête.

Sometimes our drives were varied by delightful little sea-trips.

On the 13th of June, going up to Opçina, our horses enacted the same scene as that which happened at Sauerbrunn in 1887. On the 29th of June we were very sorry to lose our nicest English neighbours and friends, Mr. and Mrs. Craig. In June also Richard felt sadly the death of Professor Chandler.

On the 1st of July, 1889, we went back to Adelsburg, where the air was cold, and it was delightful to have no mosquitoes. General Buckle accompanied us on this excursion. On the 2nd we had frightful storms, the lightning striking seven or eight times just about the house. The Caves by this time were quite spoiled by the electric light. We were able to save a poor dog that had been shot into an abyss by some cruel people, and Richard moralizes in his journal, "What had that dog done to be saved? It was ten thousand chances to one, against any one caring for his cries, and getting him out of that abyss by lowering men with ropes, which seemed impossible."[1]

We had a delightful drive to Planina. As usual, in spite of all evidences of a most healthy place, we got very sick, and so we went on, on the 8th to Graz, a delightful central place in Austria, the paradise of poor aristocracy, and retired military and naval "swells." From here we went over to Tobelbad, where we found some very dear Austrian friends; but Tobelbad is in a hole, and we found it so unhealthy, that we were glad to get to the top of a hill to breathe, and drove back to Graz. A Baron von Ponte Reno, one of our young friends, just about to be married, died a few days later. Here we had the pleasure of seeing a great deal of Professor Schuhardt; it was so hot we could not breathe. After a great many excursions we went on to Mürzüschlag, which is the station at the bottom of the Semmering, on the Südbahn line in Austria. It was a curious season. The heat, or reports of cholera, had driven every soul out of the towns to the mountains, and one could not get a bed for love nor money, and so the Erzherzog Johann Hotel was what the Austrians, with their delicacy and kindness, called Sehr Primitif, which meant "devoid of all the necessaries of life;" but the air was delicious. We looked everywhere, at Spital two hours away, and up and down the Semmering, at all the hotels, first the station, then Stephanie Gast-Haus, then Johann, and Panhaus the highest, then the Südbahn's Semmering, and two dependencies, one of which we liked the best. We reposed on a turf full of ants, and got back to the station to Mürzüschlag. I immediately took a carriage, and drove up to Lambach Hotel, on an eminence above the town. It was delightfully situated, only it was full. Splendid air, beautiful views, only all the rooms were occupied except one; so I put Richard and Dr. Baker into that, and Lisa and I went down to a sort of outhouse, where we had a little room leading out of the carriage stable, which was bounded on one side by the pigs, another side by the wash-house, and so on; but even these discomforts, and some of them were very ludicrous, had their compensations. Baron Kremer (and his wife), one time Finance Minister at Vienna and homme de lettres, and Sir Arthur and Lady Nicholson were in the hotel. From here we made an excursion to Reichenau. On the 31st we went to Neuberg, and visited the old Cistercian Monastery and Cathedral, and the Emperor's shooting-box. It is a romantic little wayside inn, with a running stream and a mill-wheel. On the 2nd we had a delightful journey from Neuberg, past Frein and Fohenwerk, to Maria-Zell, which is the Lourdes of Austria.

We lodged in the best, close to the church, the Goldenen Löwen, kept by a very dear old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman, of seventy and seventy-five years of age, who have known much better days, and are patronized by the Austro-Hungarian aristocracy, as they once owned the Erzherzog Karl Hotel in Vienna; but they lost £40,000 in the krach at the Vienna Exhibition, and came here. They are most attentive and kind, and treated us with the old chivalrous politeness of bygone days. Everything was the pink of cleanliness; she knew so well what one wanted, and how to make one comfortable. The holy shops run in a horseshoe circle round the Cathedral, where you buy all kinds of religious bric-à-brac, and get it blessed. The Church is very large, and would take too long to describe; there is a special inner sanctuary for the celebrated Madonna and Child, whose history is long. Our great amusement was watching the processions of pilgrims, which interests you very much for a time; there were endless streams flowing from every part of Austria, and many of them would begin at the bottom step, and go all round the church on their knees—a most exhausting process.

It is a charming place, and we stayed here a fortnight. It seemed to be the only place where one could get beds. We had delightful drives to Erlach, Grimau, and Sigismund's Chapel. At first Richard was not very well, which made one anxious, but afterwards it passed off. There is a Calvary to ascend, and a spring for sore eyes. But I do not describe Maria-Zell at length, because the descriptions at Lourdes must fully explain it; only that, ours being in the wilds, the processions and the people were of a far more picturesque nature, and that of Lourdes is well regulated, everything being cut and dried for the pilgrims.