e long whip
that encouraged the horses. His garments were of the humblest fashion,
but he so wore them as to make them seem imperial robes. My mother
caught an excellent likeness of him as he sat before her on the driver's
seat. The second trip was as enjoyable as the first, though it was two
or three days shorter. The route was west of our former one, passing
through Radicofani, incrusted round its hill-top; and Bolsena, climbing
backward from the poisonous shore of its beautiful lake; and Viterbo,
ugly and beggar-ridden, though famous forever on account of the war for
Galiana waged between Viterbo and Rome. In the front of an old church in
the town I saw the carved side of her sarcophagus, incorporate with the
wall. She was the most beautiful woman in the world in her day, and in
the fight for the possession of her her townsmen overcame the Romans,
but the latter were permitted, as a salve for their defeat, to have one
final glimpse of Galiana as they marched homeward without her. From
a window in a tower of one of the gates of the city, therefore, her
heavenly face looked forth and shed a farewell gleam over the dusty,
defeated ranks of Rome as they filed past, up-looking. The tale is as
old as the incident itself, but I always love to recall it; there is in
it something that touches the soul more inwardly than even the legend of
Grecian Helen.

By the middle of October we were back again in Rome, and though we were
now in new lodgings, the feeling was that of getting home after travels.
The weather was fine, and we revisited the familiar ruins and gardens,
and renewed our acquaintance with our favorite statues and pictures with
fresh enjoyment. Eddy Thompson and I found each other better
friends than ever--we had written each other laborious but sincerely
affectionate letters during our separation--and he and I, with one or
more favored companions sometimes, perambulated Rome incessantly, and
felt that the world had begun again. But by the 1st of November there
came to pass an untoward change, and our rejoicing was changed to
lamentation. First, my father himself had a touch of malaria, which
clouded his view of all outward things; and then my sister Una,
disregarding the law which provides that all persons must be in-doors
in Rome by six o'clock in the evening, caught the veritable Roman fever,
and during four months thereafter a shadow brooded over our snug little
lodgings in the Piazza, Poli. "It is not a severe