student and a
working-man; deputations from neighbouring cities, and crowds of
sympathisers, formed a procession and lined the streets. Conspicuous on
the coffin was a wreath with the inscription, "The Americans to
Mazzini"; it had been placed there by the consular representatives of
the United States. On its arrival in Genoa, the remains lay in state
again, but for one day only. Then better counsels, more in harmony with
the patriot's wishes, prevailed, and his body was placed in the
sepulchre, where no human eye has seen it since. His burial-place was
selected next to that of his mother, and now her tomb is enclosed with
his.

It was after his death only that the great agitator's life-work began to
be fully recognised by his countrymen. A reaction set in in his favour;
the Parliament of Rome passed a resolution expressing the grief of the
nation at the death of "The Apostle of Italian Unity"; public meetings
were held, and many were the marks of respect paid to him throughout
Italy.

This seemed to me an opportune moment to add my small tribute to his
memory, so I called on the Marquis d'Azeglio, then Italian ambassador to
England, and offered to present my portrait of Mazzini to the Italian
nation, that it might be placed in one of their public galleries. But I
was to be disappointed, for the marquis bowed me out, very politely, I
must say, but fully giving me to understand that it was one thing to
tolerate the demonstrations in favour of Mazzini, and another to do
honour to him and his portrait. The picture has since gone through one
or two similar experiences. What will become of it eventually I do not
know, but I am happy to have it with me still.

On the second of November, some ten years ago, I happened to be in
Genoa. It was the day of "Tutti Morti" (All Souls' Day), the great
holiday, tearful and cheerful, on which all good Catholics make their
pilgrimage to the cemeteries where rest their departed friends. A steady
stream of visitors was flowing towards the "Cimetero di Staglieno." I
joined it, and was soon wandering through arcades filled with marble
tributes to the memory of the dead, some of the sculptors' work being
very beautiful. Then, across the Campo Santo--the consecrated field--all
bedecked with flowers and garlands, I came to where the path winds
upwards to the graves and monuments that dot the hills above. There
stands Mazzini's tomb, a mausoleum worthy of the man, severe and solemn.
Two short