menting voice of the priest rises in clamorous appeal, they fall on their faces as one man—a strange sight.

We drive through the low streets of Galata, full of life; for in the evening they feast after the allday fast of Ramadan. From the vivacity of some of the figures as they sway, I think they also drink. I ride with the driver, in an ill frame of mind.

MARCH 6. We sail at eight o'clock from Constantinople. Presently pass the Dardanelles and the Hellespont, where Leander swam. Here is a queer and most ancient fort, where Xerxes once built a bridge uniting Europe to Asia.

MARCH 7. With a stormy sea, we pass the southern coast of Greece. All day the ship plunges through heavy seas.

MARCH 8. We approach Sicily and look at cloud-capped Etna. We reach Messina early in the morning; some boats approach, one with an oversized United States flag and a fat man in top-hat. This proves to be the United States consul, Mr. C., who promptly warns us against Sicilian trickery and tells every one to go to Taormina.

We go ashore and look at the ships loading with lemons, and have lunch at the restaurant where the tenor Tamagno was once porter. We take train for Taormina, and after a charming run reach that

lovely place. We drive up to the village perched on the mountain over the sea. We climb up to the Greek theater and sit among the picturesque ruins; before us, Etna and the sea and the beautiful shore. There never could be a more poetical place for a troth plighting.

Mr. M. and I start to walk down to the station. There is a strange uneasiness all around. The carriages overtake us.

MARCH 9. Arrive early at Palermo. Go to the Hôtel des Palmes. Our drawing-room is where Wagner wrote "Tristan und Isolde." We drive about the city.

In the evening all go to the opera; a very cheap performance, but a beautiful moonlight night.

MARCH 10. We all drive to Monreale and see the splendid church and cloisters. Some boys, singing in the sacristy to the music of the organ, affect me beyond control, and I withdraw from the rest and, full of sympathetic elation, shed tears.

We stop and see a private garden on the way home; toward the sea, a vast grove of lemon trees. In the evening we go on board and sail before dark. This is our last night on the Auguste Victoria; I am endeared to her by a thousand ties.

MARCH 11. Land at Naples. Early in the morning, from my port-hole, I see Capri.

Miss D., when I speak of Miss B., who is leaving, says, "I could tell her something that would make her hair curl."

MARCH 12. Naples. Go to Pompeii. The wind blows warm, and finally it rains. Gradually the storm increases, and while we are at luncheon rises to a gale with pelting rain. We sit on the stone bench at the Street of the Tombs. The music after dinner was very fine. One sang. The Gardien de nuit is also an emissary of Venus. The wise goats of Naples: I saw one looking sadly at herself in a plate-glass window.

MARCH 13. Wild, stormy, rainy day. I go out with Mr. C.; we look at bronzes. In the afternoon the music plays and one sings divinely. The spray from the sea blows against the windows; there is a great storm.

MARCH 14. Raining in the morning. I walk in the park and see the Aquarium. News comes of the death of Mrs. P. My friends go into mourning. Mr. C. and Mr. M. leave for Rome. In the afternoon Will and I walk, the carriage following us; then we drive up the high part and see the view; it rains. We dine-at last alone again. Will buys for me the bronze "Narcissus." Music plays while we dine, and one sings with great feeling.

MARCH 15. I walk before breakfast; in the forenoon we drive-Will and I. In the afternoon I walk alone through the old town, and hear wonderful singing by fishermen, with instrumental accompaniment. At the fish-market, before a shrine, three men sing with impassioned earnestness and great feeling. In the evening Will and I go to a café chantant. All day a succession of beautiful people. Looking on these radiant faces, I am sick to think that I am old.

MARCH 16. Will and I drive to Baix, on the way to the extinct craters. In one the hot springs exhale noxious gases; another is still active, with steam and gas coming out; the ground, when struck, gives out a hollow sound. We see the ruins of a theater and coliseum and fragments of temples and palaces, for here once the court of imperial Rome was placed.

MARCH 17. I walk all day in the city. In the park in the morning make an acquaintance. In the afternoon in the city. In the evening, at dinner, they play, and one, dark and passionate, with eyes like a basilisk, divinely sings.

MARCH 18. We sail to Capri; the day fair, with smooth sea.

We lunch in the open air, above the marvelously beautiful sea. Two bottles of Capri wine we drink,

and three musicians play and sing. We are in heaven. The tawny women come to sell corals. A boy with frank, joyous air asks for money and sings in the old woman's donkey's ear, "O Belle Margherita." We drive up to the town and then go down to the boat. Then at Sorrento-at the Tramontano. Vast and splendid rooms: two great saloons, a dining-room, a boudoir, an open gallery over the sea, and four immense chambers. I can hardly see the ceiling of my room, whereon is painted a fresco of the Apotheosis of Venus. After dinner the people who dance the tarantella give a private entertainment for us. There are about twenty people; they dance and sing and disport in the joyous way peculiar to Italy.

MARCH 19. Sorrento. I awake in my vast and splendid chamber. I had dreamed horribly of hard things-of losing Miss D.'s cloak, and the like. I walk out in the fresh and lovely air, and hear music from a church. I enter. It is St. Joseph's day. The altar is splendid; the priests, grandiose and rich, move in stately dignity before the tabernacle. I meet young Antonio, who talks alluringly in broken English. I cannot conceal from these people the adoration I have for their beauty. I meet again the one-legged beggar, who,