rmous table fairly
creaking under the weight of every variety of food filled half the
room, leaving very little space for the guests. The sopranos got in
first, ahead even of the amiable hostess, who stopped the whole
procession, trying to go abreast through the door with a portly
cardinal and a white diplomat, leaving us, the hungry black and white
sheep, still wrestling with the chairs.

You must have heard of Hamilton Aide, the author of _The Poet and the
Prince_ and other works. He comes frequently to see us, and always
brings either a new book or a new song--for he is not only a
distinguished author, but a composer as well. He sings willingly when
asked. He is very fond of one of his songs, called "The Danube River."
If he had not brought the music and I had not seen the title as I laid
it on the piano, I should never have known that it was anything so
lively as a river he was singing about. Though I could occasionally
hear the word "river," I hoped that as the river and singer went on
they would have a little more "go" in them; but they continued babbling
along regardless of obstacles and time. I was extremely mortified to
see that several of my guests had dozed off. The river and the singer
had had a too-lullaby effect on them.

ROME, _1883_.

Dear ----,--Next to the Palazzo Tittoni lives a delightful family--the
Count and Countess Gigliucci, with a son and two daughters. The
Countess is the celebrated Clara Novello of oratorio fame. The three
ladies are perfectly charming. I love to go to see them, and often drop
in about tea-hour, when I get an excellent cup of English tea and
delicious muffins, and enjoy them in this cozy family circle.

Though they live In a palace and have a showy _portier_, they do not
disdain to do their shopping out of the window by means of a basket,
which the servant-girl lets down on a string for the daily marketing.
Even cards and letters are received in this way, as the porter refuses
to carry anything up to their third story. "_Sortita!_" screamed down
in a shrill voice is the answer to the visitor waiting below in the
courtyard.

When the three ladies are sitting at the tea-table dispensing tea, one
of them will suddenly commence the trio from "Elijah"--"Lift thine
eyes"--the other two joining in (singing without an accompaniment, of
course) in the most delicious manner. Their voices are so alike in
_timbre_ and quality that it is almost impossible to distinguish one
from