We found this place delightful, a dépendance of the Südbahn Hotel, Semmering, with glorious views, delicious air, very fair food, and, above all, quiet; full of Austrians, Hungarians, and Jews. Here we got a startling letter from the Foreign Office to Richard, wanting to know why he had had so much leave, although they had told him to take it. It agitated him, and hurt him. Our delightful drives here were to Maria-Schütze, another smaller pilgrimage place, like Maria-Zell, but with only a small village, one shop and one inn. Snow fell upon the Schneeberg—this was always a signal for Richard not being very well; but these little attacks of gout came and passed quickly. He did not get on well here, so we made up our minds to leave on the twelfth day. The fact is, the Foreign Office letter had worried him, and made him anxious to get back to Trieste; so we went up to Vienna.

Sir Augustus and Lady Paget were absent, but the secretaries, Mr. Phipps, Lord Royston, and Mr. Maude, dined with us, where we soon had a nice little society round us, and of literary people, Dr. and Madame de Griez, Mr. Brinsley Richards and his wife, Mr. Gibbs, Mr. Lavino of the Daily Telegraph, and, last but not least, Major and Mrs. Keith Fraser. We drove to Karlenberg, and that evening Richard broke out with gout. Dr. Baker telegraphed to England for some particular medicines, and they arrived by immediate post; but we were not allowed by law to have them, for the protection of the native chemist, so we had them sent back to Trieste. Disheartened, we determined to leave; but first we visited the tomb of Prince Rudolf. Many were passing down into the vaulted chamber where the sarcophagus lies. It was very, very cold and dark, and it made us so melancholy to think what he had thrown away in one moment.

Here Richard got well very quick. Mr. Joyner, C.E., from Poonah, India, paid us a visit, whom we had not seen for thirteen years. He was not in the least changed. We had a fearful storm, of rain, hail, thunder, lightning, and wind, which smashed twelve of our windows. H.M.S. Scout came in, Captain Conybeare, Lieutenants Torlesse and Carr; and we had the pleasure of receiving some of the officers for a few days. It always did Richard so much good seeing his countrymen from home. He had to have a small operation performed on the 7th of October, after which we went up to the mountains for quiet and rest. The Scout steamed out on the 10th, and we waved a flag from the roof, which they could see with glasses. We all got rheumatism, and went down again shortly. On the 22nd of October Richard had to be worried with another second small operation. I told the operator to be as gentle as he could, as Richard was in a very nervous state, and he would hardly believe me, he looked so well and strong; but he told me afterwards that he found out that it was so. Dr. Baker found him a very clever man, and what he had to do, was done as painlessly and as quickly as possible; and Richard was well enough to entertain our dear friend Alexander Thayer, ex-Consul-General of the United States (who dined with us regularly once a week), on his seventy-second birthday, which occurred the same evening, a few hours after the operation. We had several friends, who each had their day to either breakfast or dine with us. It was a custom always kept up.

On the 25th of October he got a second curious official letter from the Foreign Office about not giving his Vice-Consul sufficient money. (He was giving him £350 a year, and the Embassy would have sent down anybody for that.) He was very angry, and reduced it in consequence. A third time the Foreign Office worried Richard with writing that he had been in England, which he had not, and was again angry. In fact, there seemed to be a dead set against him during August and October, 1889.

On the 15th of November we embarked for Brindisi in the Austrian-Lloyd Ettore. Crowds of friends came to see us off, with flowers. She was a long, narrow ship, powerful screw, and very much lumbered up; but there was no Austrian-Lloyd's on which we should not have found ourselves at home. There was a heavy ground swell later on, and a good wind. A moorhen was blown on board, and I kept her till the ship was close to the marshes. We landed the next night at Brindisi, after thirty-one hours' passage, and heavy gales came on, and we had to stay there several days for our steamer on to Malta. However, Captain Osborne, mail-agent, and Mr. David Low, P. and O. agent, kept us alive. We saw everything there was to be seen all around. At Brindisi we visited Virgil's house, upon which they are building a new one.

We visited the Churches, the Column, and the Castle. The Cathedral has a silver altar behind the boards, and dates from earliest Christianity: the priests say that St. Peter was here, but not St. Paul. The town reminds us of Tangier—it has something Spanish, Moorish, and Venetian about it; but with all that it is common. There are two Calvaries, and there is a little old Basilica of San Giovanni, the oldest church here, which belonged to the Templars, and is now a little locked-up museum of antiquities. It contains antique stones and inscriptions. The marble column near the Cathedral was set up by one Lupus Propaspata, of the eleventh century; it is fifty feet high, and the capital decorated with sea-monsters. The broken one near it seems to have formed part of a Roman temple.

The Great East India Hotel is like a caravanserai; the harbour is full of steamers, of which the P. and O.'s are kings, and are always in-pouring and out-pouring their wonderful and amusing contents into the hotel, for a few hours. We got off on the 24th in the P. and O. Rosetta, had a beautiful passage, arriving at Malta next day, after a twenty-nine hours' passage. I was glad to find that Richard was never the worse for the sea. We were afraid lest the shaking might affect his head, but providentially the whole of that winter, unlike the last sea voyage, we were only five hours in heavy weather.

Malta.

During our twenty-three days we got quite a large acquaintance—General and Mrs. Wilkie, Acting-Governor (Sir Henry Torrens, the Governor, died in England at this time), Mr. and Mrs. Worthington, a very charming Miss Fanny Portelli Carbone, Lieutenant Carr of the Scout, Archdeacon Hardy and his family, Mr. Mandeville-Ellis, whom we had known before, and no end of officers of the army and navy, who were also kind and hospitable. Lieutenant Carr and Lieutenant Savory gave us a charming lunch on board the Hibernia. It is hardly necessary to say that we visited the Barracca and the Armoury, under Richard's guidance, who knew Malta so well. Richard went to the Armoury, and longed to rearrange the whole hall. He inspected all the swords very rigidly, saw Dragut's blade, battle-axes—said all the swords were mixed, and were mostly Toledos with no dates to them. He said, "I am much disgusted by the quantity of 'rot,' and they have very probably thrown away their best specimens." Dr. Baker kodak'd one hilt for him. Then we passed a great deal of time in St. John's, the great Templars' Church.

The most interesting thing of all is Fort St. Elmo, with its chapel, its views, and its guns. It was in this chapel that the last little remnant of the starving, emaciated Templars, who knew they could hold out no longer against the besiegers, assembled to hear Mass and receive Communion before their last fight. The ossuario is at the Capucini; there are forty embalmed monks, and one chapel all of bones and skulls, which was very interesting. The Governor's palace is also worth seeing. At Citta Vecchia is a very interesting visit to St. Paul's, and the grotto of St. Paul's, where you see a statue life-size in the middle of the cave, carved of marble, and for a moment looking almost real: also a new Roman villa, quite Pompeian, but with coarser mosaics: the view, and the gateway, where is an old statue of Juno; last, and not least, a Maltese woman named Farujea, who makes gaudy mule-cloths, and, if you give her a large enough order, will make them at seven shillings a pair, three yards long, for which you give a much larger price in Malta. At a church called Santa Maria di Gesù, in Valetta, there is a crucifix, which has a legend that the poor man who made it did not know how to carve the face, and that an angel carved it for him; but I think the work was too bad to have been the angel's. There are any amount of churches. There is Vittoria, a very old Templar church, and the Canonesses of St. Ursula, which is evidently a sister house of our Canonesses of the Holy Sepulchre, New Hall, Chelmsford, Essex. There is the Jesuit College with about six hundred boys. Father Hornyold shows you what good little Englishmen they are training. There is the big 110-gun at Sliema.

On one drive Richard descended to Marsa; found women fishing and rowing, and men mending nets. There he found one Phœnician tank, and one Phœnician temple.

Though everything here, between the walls, looks like rock and ivory, on a slight coating of fertile soil grow fruit and flowers, and world-wide-famed potatoes. The streets are lively; the vehicles are very small, very high up, very uncomfortable, on four wheels, and are called carrozzellas. They are covered with an ornamented tarpaulin, and curtains for need. Their drivers look ruffians. The horses are small and strong, and though their lives appear to be of the hardest, they look mostly fat and well-kept. Many come seven miles into town with a lot of peasants, work all day, and go back with their load at night. The streets are all the steepest possible, up and down hill; they have no break, and if you stop at a house, the horse has to keep the full carriage back with his body. They ought to wear out very soon. The horse gets dry clover in the morning, a midday meal of bread, which the driver pulls out from under the seat and cuts up for him, and at night beans. The only real cruelty I saw was, that as they dare not flog or maltreat, they have sharp-pointed things concealed in their hands, and when no one is looking they drive them into tender places, chiefly to the beasts of burden and under the harness, and the loads look large.

Our hotel, Michael Cini, Royal Hotel, had good clean rooms, baths, good food and wine, reasonable prices, very attentive, and the best situation. I thought all the other hotels horrid. The women of the higher class wear a black silk dress, and a black silk mantle called faldetta, stiffened round the head, caught up at one side in pleats like a fan or shell; they look very pretty in it, and like coquettish nuns. The lower orders go barefoot, with their shabby dress short in front, and a train sweeping the street behind, and a shabby faldetta. Valetta is the centre, but Malta is divided into several suburbs with other towns, or dependencies—Floriana, Vittoriosa, and Senglea across the harbour, Sliema and Citta Vecchia; four smaller ones are Crendi, Macluba, Hagiar-Khem, Mniadra; and Gozo, a separate but smaller island. The most impressive thing that I saw to my mind in Malta was a military funeral—the reversed arms; the "Dead March" by the band; the slow swaying march of the soldiers; the respectful salute of every soldier as it passed the ramparts crowded with red-coats; the body on a gun-carriage, covered with the Union Jack, so solemn, so respectful as it should be, so different to Continental funerals.

We had been intending to go on Thursday, the 12th of December, and I here got a slight return of the sickness that I had in Lucerne last year, but nothing like so heavy, and Richard also had a little gout. There was only a ship once a week to take us to Tunis, so Richard was anxious to go all weathers, the sailing-time eleven o'clock. That morning the gales were dreadful, the sea mountains high; he called out to me, "It is fine enough to go." "Very well," I said, with an eternal quake, feeling so ill. Presently a message was sent up from the office to say that the weather was as bad as could be. There was a little hesitation on his part; still preparations went on. About an hour later came a second message from the agents, "The steamer had broken her moorings and had gone aground; no passengers were going, the hurricane was bad; should we mind transferring our tickets?" Richard looked out, and saw the sea was mountains high, wind howling, the rain like buckets. I shall never forget the joy with which I bolted into bed to nurse my sickness.

On Friday, the 13th of December, he deplores the death of Robert Browning.

Having taken leave of all our kind friends, we embarked on the 19th of December on the good ship St. Augustine, a French trans-atlantique. The going out was exceedingly interesting, and very rough. Malta seems to collect round it a regular swirl of bad weather, wind, rain, mist, steam, fog-clouds, and heavy swell round her like a mantle, but you have to stand out to sea to perceive it. Richard and I planted ourselves against a mast, to get the last view of Malta, but our feet were so frequently up in the air, and the stern of the boat hiding all view, that after a while we had to give it up. It gives you the impression of a huge sand-coloured rock rising out of the sea, and being covered with houses of the same colour. It might be a huge ivory toy carved for a museum. You are impressed by the immense ramparts, bastions, and guns everywhere; by the deep moats—one 950 yards long, 55 deep, and 30 wide—and its drawbridges. You feel its immense strength, its English solidity, the difficulty an enemy would have to take it. If you are an exile, your heart is cheered by the sight of the dozen men-of-war in harbour, and the five or six regiments, and the heights covered with the red-coats of our own nation. The natives have a superstition that Malta is like a large mushroom in the sea, and the waves perpetually beating against the stem will one day break it, and Malta will sink. We had a nineteen hours' run to Tunis, and the sea slowed down after five or six hours.

We had a merry dinner with the French officers, and a quiet night. The cabins were unendurable as to size—beds four feet nothing and very hard, no sitting or lounging places. If we had had very bad weather, I am afraid we should have suffered very much. The next day we were also fortunate, for, arriving at Tunis—landing at Tunis is not a delight—ships lie out half a mile distant, and in heavy weather I should think it would be very difficult; a steam-launch comes off and takes you and your little traps and puts you down in a shed, then goes off once or twice more for big baggage and goods; then you go to the custom-house to be examined. Here we hire two carriages and put all our baggage, great and small, in it, and tell them to drive it into Tunis. Then proceed ourselves to the little station, and wait one hour for a train, and a half-hour does the eight miles into Tunis station; then you go in a 'bus to the Grand Hôtel. Never go to the Grand Hôtel, only fit for commercial travellers, but go to the Grand Hôtel de Paris—nice rooms, quiet, civil people, reasonable prices. Thus it took five hours from the time of casting anchor to getting housed. I think we enjoyed Tunis the most of all, as it was decidedly the most Oriental.

On December 27th Richard deplores the death of our friend Baron Von Kremer, one of Austria's best Oriental scholars, which reached him on the 1st of January.

Richard got another slight attack of gout, and was a little shaky about the legs, but it soon passed. As soon as Richard improved, we saw everything that was to be seen, made excursions, and passed much time in the bazars. We did not think, however, that Tunis was either as grand or as wild as Damascus, although the French having possessed it for so short a time, it is not quite spoiled as is Algiers.

There are some little Sisters of the Poor, who have a large house a mile out of town over dreadful roads. They are of all nations; there was one American and one English nun. There is the best view of the town and surrounding country, which pleased Richard very much. They keep sixty-five old men and women, mostly incurables. We often went there.

One of our most favourite excursions was to Marsa, to our Consul-General and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Drummond-Hay, son of old Sir John Hay of Marocco. You drive through Napoleonic endless straight roads, through brackish swamps for miles and miles, till you come to the aqueduct and ruins of old Carthage. Large masonry works are still standing; the stones and mortar are very poor. The villa where they live was Sir Richard Wood's; it is semi-Moorish, semi-European, and stands just beyond the ruins. They were just beginning it, and have now made it perfectly beautiful. They are charming people; he quiet and reserved, she affectionate, clever, and lively.

We found here some genial people—Commandant Coyne, a French Arabist; Mr. Seton-Karr, author and traveller; Mr. and Mrs. Pitner, the Austrian Consul-General; and Count Bathyani. We had delightful drives, and Dr. Baker photographed Bedawi in their tents. We often went to Dar el Bey; and the Kasbah, the former palace, has beautiful Moorish rooms, but they are dark and melancholy. The bazars are very nice, but, excepting one or two shops, are not a patch upon Damascus. Our favourite drives were generally round the Arab and the Jewish quarters. We had drives also to Belvedere, where is the military hospital, Ariana, Bardo, and Mamlíf.

Here we were reading "Salammbó," and Mr. Broadley's two excellent volumes on "Tunis and its Conquest."

The most interesting thing was to pass through the Jewish and Mohammedan quarters, so narrow, such types, such smells and sights. Lisa and I used to go to the harems and learn to make Arab dishes. We were also cheered by the arrival of Mr. Terence Bourke, brother of Lord Mayo, who has a delightful Moorish house in the Mohammedan quarter, where he gave us much hospitality. We had charming Arab breakfasts with him. Poor Lisa got the influenza. Influenza was not so much known then—it was only talked of at a distance.

Carthage.

Carthage must be divided into two parts—1. Commercial; 2. Military. The cisterns are Roman, not Punic. There are two roads from Marsa to Carthage. The upper, which we went, a mere track and dangerous, leads to Sidi bin Sa'id, an old church excavated, and the chapel of St. Louis; the lower road is the highway to Goletta. On a bit of ascent to the left, on the Goletta coast, is the palace of Cardinal Lavigérie. Cardinal Lavigérie was trying to make a small Rome at old Carthage; his new Cathedral was of Maltese build—another al Melláhah, surrounded by gardens, with inscriptions on the walls: some five hundred are not yet published. Statues and fragments and everything were plastered on or about the walls, the columns below; a large building underground, temple of Ashman, has very fine masonry. The chapel of St. Louis is small and circular, stands alone, and has one high altar. It contains the tomb of Count de Lesseps, Baron Ferdinand de Lesseps' father, with a big inscription. In the great hall, where you are received, there are numbers of modern pictures; there is a splendid view of the sea, and Cape Bon and Tunis.

The flat below is a mine of antiquities. Old Carthage port, now the quarantine, is much like a natural dock, the entrance silted up. Indeed, it is a beautiful panorama. The museum begins with Italian art, with Bible subjects on one side. On the opposite wall—Pagan subjects—there is a fine collection. Three skeletons are disposed as if in the tomb, and six or seven pots at the head—fatuæ on the right side—and pots at feet sometimes. There are Pagan and Christian mosaics. All the land belongs to the Cardinal, who was the Pope of Carthage. No foreigner could excavate anywhere. There is a huge convent. The monks are all in white, with a big rosary and fez, and are called "Les Pères blancs de la Mission Africaine." There is a convent of Carmelite nuns close by. Carthage runs all along Tania, where mosaics are found. The old sea-walls of the port are behind the present Goletta.

The Fathers were delightful, and showed us everything. The Cardinal, who we were dying to see, was absent. The Cathedral will be very nice when it has toned down; it was at present too gaudy.

There is a big stone near Tunis, very long and slanting; ladies who wish to be pregnant slide down it, so it is worn quite smooth. We made as many excursions into the interior as it was possible, considering the state of Richard's health, but the most difficult thing was how to get from Tunis to Algiers, which, considering the accommodation, was a frightful dilemma. The little coast-steamers are wretched; the weather was very cold, the sea was exceedingly rough, and the possibility of landing, when you do arrive at a port, is always extremely uncertain, on account of the heavy rollers. Hence, should the heavy sea have affected Richard's head by the shaking, we should have had no redress. There was no possible stopping-place for any one by train, who from health motives ought not to rough it. There is, indeed, Souk el Arba, after six hours' train, where there is a tramps' hut (but nothing to eat), at about half-past ten in the day—twenty-four hours to wait for next day's train. There is Ghardimau at 11.45 (the frontier where they visit baggage). There is Souk-Ahras at 2.13, where the country becomes wild and bold. People in health may stop here for the next day's train, but we determined that none of this would do, especially as the carriages are made for hardy Arabs, and not for luxury.

Now, through the immense kindness of the railway director, M. Kœly, I was fortunate enough to secure a saloon, with two benches mattressed and cushioned, where, with railway rugs, four could lie feet to feet, a small but clean toilette, and a curtained terrace, where we put all our little baggage, and Africano, our good dragoman. We left our hotel, and conveyed Richard to the train at 8.30 p.m. overnight, and established ourselves on board our train, because it started at 5.15 in the morning (and a cold January morning), and our hot coffee was brought to us inside by the kindness of the same director. We had all our meals in the train, as we were provided with an ample basket of food, drink, smoke, and books. Richard enjoyed the terrace and watching the country; the air was most exhilarating, and he felt quite well. We should not perhaps have thought so much of the scenery in Austria, but still it was very beautiful. Then it must be remembered that Tunis has only had the advantage, or disadvantage, of eight years of civilization. The difficulties of engineering must have been great, but the train was very well driven, prudently on bad places, and always true to time.

At Duvivier we were shunted from the Bona to the Kroubs train. It began to get dark. We dined on board, and had a bottle of champagne we had brought with us, and got fearfully tired about eight o'clock in the evening, and lay down. At 8.20 we were shifted from the Kroubs train to the Constantine train, where we arrived at 12.15 in the night, having been out twenty-eight hours and running nineteen; but Richard was the strongest of us all, and none the worse. We drove to the Hôtel du Louvre, and were glad to tumble into bed. We would willingly have stayed here a long time; the hotel was not so bad as its entrance makes you think. It was the healthiest and the most interesting town we had seen. We had to celebrate here our twenty-ninth, and, alas! our last, wedding-day. We passed it in inspecting our surroundings. It is of a peculiar gorgy character, and must have been impregnable in old days. The Devil's Bridge and hot springs are most picturesque. The Arab tents are made of straw, thatch, and dirty rags, and look as if all the rubbish of the world were heaped upon them. The Arabs in this part of the world are big, magnificent-looking men, who make everybody else look small, with white burnous, and have beautiful white teeth. The French very sensibly swagger about, and the troops make a great fanfare of trumpets. The people here are cruel to their donkeys, who seem born to carry loads of stone upon their backs.

Algiers is an ideal place to look at; at first Richard was delighted with it, and thought he would end his days there, but in about three weeks he began to change his mind, and said nothing would induce him to have "our cottage" there. For myself, I thought it was the dampest, most neuralgic place I ever was in; but it is very beautiful, superior to Trieste in beauty, the town more elevated, and looking like ivory, as Eastern towns do, but yet like Trieste; and the country green, and picturesque with palms. Here we found delightful society—Sir Lambert and Lady Playfair, Count Bathyani, Mrs. Campbell Praed, the Marquise de Beaufort, Lady Clementina and Mr. Mitford, Lord Carbery, Mrs. and Miss Newton, the Rev. Colin Campbell, Colonel Preston, and a very nice and clever Miss Florence Shakespeare Owens, and many other charming people. Here for the second time a huge glass chandelier fell, nearly cutting the table in two just as we had left our places.

Richard was now invited to the Stanley Exhibition.

Daily Chronicle, February 20th.

"Sir Richard Burton and Mr. Stanley.

"Sir Edward Lee, hon. secretary of the Stanley and African Exhibition to be opened at the Victoria Gallery, has received the following letter from Captain Sir Richard F. Burton, the African Explorer, and her Majesty's Consul at Trieste:—

"Hammam R'irha, February 17th, 1890.

"Dear Sir Edward Lee,

"Your kind invitation to be present at the general meeting for the Stanley and African Exhibition has only just reached me, and the direction will explain the cause of delay. I cannot say how great is my regret at being absent on such an occasion. I should have wished at this and at every other opportunity to express my hearty admiration of all that Stanley has dared and done. He is to me, and always will be, the prince of African travellers.

"I am, dear Sir Edward Lee,

"Yours faithfully,

"Richard F Burton."

Richard got gouty here, and we were glad to return to Algiers at the end of the week; but we did not go back to the same sort of life, of which there are two. One life is to live up at Mustafa Supérieure and take care of your health, and the other is to live in town and see something of native life. You cannot do both, because getting up and down from Mustafa to town occupies all day; so we now went to the Hotel de la Régence, where we stayed a fortnight in order to see something of Algiers. Here we read "Mosállam," by Laurence Oliphant, which explains so much of his life.

We went all over the City, seeing the most interesting things—the Cardinal's Moorish Palace, the Cardinal's Cathedral, the Museum, where is shown poor Geronimo's body. He lived in 1540, was taken prisoner and baptized, but his relations caught him again, and kept him as a Mohammedan till he was twenty-five; then he returned to Oran, where he renewed his Christianity, but he was caught again by a Moorish corsair and brought to Algiers, where he was ordered again to become a Mohammedan; and as he would not, he was sentenced to be thrown alive into a mould, with his feet and hands tied with cords, and the block of concrete containing his body was built into an angle of the fort. In 1853 it was destroyed, and on the 27th of December the skeleton was found enclosed in the block. The bones were carefully removed, and interred with great pomp in the Cathedral, built on the site of the Mosque of Hassan. Liquid plaster of Paris was run into the mould left by his body; they thus obtained a perfect model, even of his features, the cords which bound him, and the texture of his clothing, and this you see in the museum. We wandered about the Mosques and about the bazars to buy curios, and although Algiers is now only a French town on Arab foundations, the Arab part of the town, that remains untouched, was as interesting as anything we had ever seen. Take, for instance, the Mosque or Zaouia of Sidi Abd er Rahman Eth-Thalebi, which contains his tomb and its surroundings; there are numbers of tombs around him, and the usual drapery, lamps, banners, and ostrich eggs. Take the Arab town with its close, dark, steep streets, and its dark holes and shops, the ways of which are like climbing a wall of steps. One is ascended by 497 steps; they are mostly alleys just wide enough to pass through, and is a labyrinth in which you might easily lose yourself. The Kasbah, or Citadel, is also well worth a visit. We made as many excursions as was possible in the interior, considering the state of Richard's health, and when he was not well enough for a walk or a drive, he received African Professors. Some of our party went to see one of the fanatical religious meetings of the Assaouwiyeh, the religious confraternity of Sidi Mohammed bin Aissa, which take place sometimes in the native quarter. I have seen many of these sort of things, but never carried to the extent that I am told they are carried here, where they mutilate themselves, and sometimes a sheep is thrown amongst them which they devour alive. I could not sleep that night for knowing it was going on, but our party comforted me by telling me next day that nothing of the sort had taken place.

We now took our departure from Algiers.

Richard said that one of his great pleasures in leaving North Africa, and especially Algiers, was the intense cruelty to animals. It was no pleasure to walk or drive, and some people felt it so much, that they walked by back ways, and only looked forward to giving up their villas altogether, since there was no one to stop it. The Rev. Colin Campbell and I did what we could all the time we were there.

At last the day came for leaving. The day before the sea had been frightful, and, though it was fine this day, we had the heavy swell of yesterday's storm. It was a capital boat, the only good steamer on this coast, all new appliances, electric light, corky in the water like our Irish boats (the Duc de Braganza). Mrs. Campbell Praed, who had been with us all along, accompanied us to Marseilles, and it was delightful to have her society.

We enjoyed our passage exceedingly on the 7th of March, the only fine day amongst a series of gales. In the evening Richard and Dr. Baker went into the smoking-cabin, and there a young man, a travelled passenger, was holding forth to the others with regard to African travellers, and Richard Burton in particular, having no idea that the said Richard Burton was part of his audience. It became exceedingly amusing when he began to relate the tale of "how Richard Burton had murdered two men on his Meccan journey, because they had suspected him of being a Frank and a Christian." Richard then said quietly to him, "What traveller did you say did this deed?" "Oh, Burton, the famous Mecca-man!" "Have you seen him?" "Oh yes, of course I have." "Well, then," said Richard, "I am that man, and I assure you that I never did this deed; that I had no cause to, for I never was suspected. I have been told that such a tale was rife about me, but I thought it was a joke, and it has never come face to face with me as a serious thing till to-night. There were two Englishmen travelling about the desert at this time; they were put into a great difficulty, and I believe they had to do it in self-defence, and in consequence of this misfortune, their travels never appeared before the public; but it did not happen to me." This reminds me of dining out one night long before; it was a very large dinner-party, in London, and the gentleman opposite to me bent forward and said, "I heard you talking a great deal about the East; did you ever chance to meet Burton the traveller?" I saw his agitated neighbour nudging him, so I laughed, and said, "Rather! I have the honour of being his wife." On another occasion—it was at the British Association for Science in 1878—we were stopping with Lord Talbot of Malahide; it was a show place, and the Association came over in the afternoon, and were being lionized about. Richard had given a lecture the day before in Dublin, and a little crowd were collected around us. Suddenly a middle-aged lady, not knowing who I was, walked up to me, by way of saying something pleasant, and said, "I did not think much of the lecture of Burton the traveller, did you?" Richard and I were ready to split, but I was so sorry for her, that I said cheerfully, "Oh yes! I liked it very much indeed; but, you know, it was a very abstruse subject, and one which people in general are not likely to understand." (It was on the Ogham-Runes, the tree-language of ancient Ireland, as compared with El Mushajjar, the tree-language of ancient Arabs.) Meantime her friends, who had been tugging at her mantle in agonies, had got her off, and then we had a good laugh.

After staying here one day, we went on to Toulon, and on to the Hôtel Continental at Hyères, which we thought delightful. We had a delicious drive to Carquerain, and down to the sea. Between this and Nice we met Admiral Seymour of the Iris, and travelled in the same train, and went on to the Isles Britanniques at Nice. The French Squadron was in; their manœuvres were very pretty, and they looked "fit." The Bataille des Fleurs was going on. Sir Richard Wood and Mrs. Campbell Praed came to breakfast, and he took us to see all the fun. He was looking very well and fresh. We were exceedingly pleased to meet him, as he was the one Consul held in honour before Richard Burton at Damascus. After one whole day there, we took the train for Genoa, and we had rather an unpleasant journey, as Richard was a little ailing, and could not enjoy the motions of the Italian train curving round the coast. One must admit that the district of the Riviera is beautiful, the English type (after you pass Monte Carlo, Mentone, Bordighera, and San Remo) changing to poor picturesque Italy, when it becomes defiled by its vulgar, petty officialdom. We hated Genoa from our sad remembrance in 1887, so, instead of going to our old hotel, we went to the Hôtel de la Ville on the Port, and disliked it very much, and felt that we had left civilization. We wandered about, and went to the beautiful Campo Santo and bought things; and next day went on to Milan, where we also changed our hotel, and went to the Cavour, which we liked exceedingly. Next day we got on to Venice, to the Grand Hôtel, but we only stayed one day, as Richard was suffering from hotel food, and so we reached home on his birthday, the 19th of March (his last birthday, sixty-ninth), having been out rather more than four months.

Home again, 19th March, 1890.

On the 20th he notices with regret the death of General Sir Thomas Steele.

From this time I got very ill with peritonitis, and was laid up for some little time, and Richard and Dr. Baker took care of me.

We had two earthquakes, which shook the walls.

On the 7th of April he notices the death of Miss Mary Boyle.

I went out for the first time on the 9th of April, and the day before that we recommenced our evening writing together, which continued during the remaining seven months of his life; and we made rough notes of most of the things which are in this biography, though perhaps in different words. We had a visit from an old friend, Miss Maria Gordon-Duff, and a friend of hers, Miss Jean Grieve, which we enjoyed very much.

On the 19th of April the Bishop consecrated the little Church which we had helped to start less than a year ago. He said Mass, with the Chief Authorities and many of the Benefactors present, and the life-size statue that Richard and I had promised them, which was quite a work of art, from Messrs. Mayer of Munich, was the centre-piece of the altar. Colonel and Mrs. Adams arrived, who were interested about the animals like myself, and I took her all over my public stables and other arrangements, with which she was much pleased.

On the 21st of April our friend Mr. Frank James, African traveller, was killed by a wounded elephant in the Gaboon country.

On the 9th of May, Mr. Letchford's picture of Richard was finished and sent to the Stanley Exhibition. Our old friend Mr. Arbuthnot arrived on the 11th, and stayed several days with us, which cheered Richard up immensely.

Captain Melfort Campbell, of Gibraltar, died on May 12th, and with him the Vigo Bay scheme.

On the 17th I had another attack of peritonitis, and Lisa was ill in bed with erysipelas; and Richard expressed a wish to leave Trieste for good, which I heartily coincided in, thinking it would save him much illness, but he afterwards changed his mind.

On the 11th of June we had storms of thunder and lightning like a bombardment for twelve hours. It was very fatiguing to the nerves.

On the 13th we had a large tea-party from Duino—Princess Taxis, Prince Hohenlöhe, Prince Eric, and the Duchess della Grazia.

We now had a great annoyance in receiving the following paragraph:—

"Illness of Sir Richard Burton.

"While all England, says the London correspondent of the Liverpool Mercury, is continuing to fêté Mr. Stanley, it is not pleasant to reflect that his great predecessor in African exploration, Sir Richard Burton, is lying very dangerously ill, neglected and alone, in London lodgings. Yet in his time and in his own way the elder traveller accomplished even more remarkable feats than the hero of the hour. His romantic pilgrimage to Mecca and El-Medinah in the disguise of a Moslem devotee, his journey through Berbera to the Sacred City of Harar, where no other infidel foot has ever trodden, were but preliminaries to the great achievement of his life, the discovery of Lake Tanganyika—the credit for which had been claimed for Captain Speke. This discovery paved the way for all that has since been done in Central Africa."

This hurt me very much, and it annoyed my husband as much as it did me, and I returned the following answer:—

"Sir Richard Burton.

"To the Editor of the Morning Post.

"Sir,—My relations have startled me with a cutting from a 'London Correspondent' saying that 'Sir Richard Burton is lying very dangerously ill, neglected and alone, in a London lodging, whilst Stanley is being fêtéd.' If the love and devotion of a wife may count for anything, Sir Richard will never be neglected nor alone whilst I am alive. I have been married to him for nearly thirty years, besides a five years' engagement, and during all those thirty-five years I have never been absent from him one day that I was allowed to be with him—in other words, I have never been absent except to execute his orders. For the last seven years we have hardly been a day apart, and for the last three and a half years that he has been ailing, never one hour away out of the twenty-four. During these three and a half years we have, in consequence of the weakness of his health, sacrificed everything to have a resident English doctor (who was looking for such a berth) living and travelling with us. And instead of a London lodging, we have a beautiful and romantic home (with every comfort for him that our means allow) at the very head of the Adriatic. Next year his term of service expires (forty-nine years' actual service), and then we shall both be, if alive, 'in a London lodging, neglected and alone.' But to state that now is what the Americans would call 'a little previous.' On the other hand, I am very grateful to the correspondent for the truth of his statement about my husband's career, showing that in the midst of this fêting and rejoicings for the great traveller Stanley, the pioneer who opened up the way without money or help or applause, enduring the severest hardships and perils, and cold receptions on his return, is not forgotten at home, and that they know that it is to him first that they owe the fact that many of these desolate regions have now trade and schools and missions, and the beginning of civilization. I feel confident that God will make up to him more than he has missed of this world's honours.

"Yours, etc.,

"Isabel Burton.

"Trieste, June 15."

We had at this time six days of continuous violent storms, which made his health less good. We had one more charming outing; to Duino, to attend the Gypsy fair, where, as usual, we were after Romany and Gypsy lore. I tried to buy up some of their skeleton horses, but they wanted £5 a piece. We had a very delightful and memorable evening there on the 24th of June (all the family of Duino dining with us at the inn).

On the 30th we were honoured by a visit from Archduke Ludwig Salvator.

Our Last Trip.

From Innsbrück we made a four hours' run to Feldkirch over the Arlberg, which was really dangerous, as Richard had before foretold. There had been landslips, and some places were planked over so that you could see the precipices under the carriage, the train going very slow. There were several bad places, and one unpleasant bridge. The next train to ours could not come over. I heard a gentleman, who I was told was one of the engineers of the line, say in German to some other gentlemen, "We thought it would last for ever when we put it up, but now I would not let my own family cross in spring after the rains." We stopped to see my nephew Bertie Pigott, who was in college here. The Jesuits have a large college, which is the principal thing in the town, very much on the same principle as that of Sliema Malta, and have their playground, athletic exercises, museum, library, good church, etc. In the Cathedral there is an Holbein's altar to see.