On another day we had gone to see the Moses of Michael Angelo—earth’s most lasting symbol of the imperishable Divine Law—and, as we came out of the church, we paused to look at the picture made by the convent with the tall palm-tree against the Frangipani Tower, and heard how in time of famine the Frangipani—the “bread-breakers”—earned their noble name, as true _lords_ (hláford, or “_loaf-ward_”) in sharp contrast to the Borgias—the spoilers of the poor—whose palace still stands to the right of the steps down which we passed, going through the archway, that we might look up to the balcony where the beautiful Lucrezia must often have stood, to cool her throbbing brow, under the quiet stars so high above all futile ambition and fleeting passion. And yet another well-remembered walk, from the Piazza di Spagna, past the studio of Canova, to the Via di Ripetta, to look for the bust that marks the house of Angelo Brunetti— “The tribune of the people, who could stay A tumult by the lifting of his hand, And by the lifting of his voice could bring An array round him”— by his mother named Ciceruacchio, “Fair and strong.” “And still the name grew with him as he grew To stature stateliest, and strongest arm, And fairest face of all the City.” And we talked of the great deeds of that fateful year as we followed the street which is now called by the name of him. “Who with deep eyes, silent and resolute, Rode slowly up the steep of golden sand To San Pietro in Montorio.” Then, standing by the grave which tells of the gratitude of _Italia Una_, we pictured the triumphant procession up that same Via Garibaldi, as the ashes of the patriots who had died for Italy were brought from far and wide to rest in the Rome they had loved so well. My Roman Journal closes with a comment on Miss Buss’ most able guidance, and the conclusion— “To be with her in Rome is something to be remembered. She is always an inspiration, with her splendid vitality and energy; but here, with her enthusiasm and her complete familiarity with every association, she is wonderful indeed—a living flame of fire.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER III. SOCIAL LIFE. “And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends.” When we think of the vivid impressions of men and things that we might have had from one who enjoyed such varied experience, we cannot but regret that the press and hurry of her life made a diary an impossibility for Miss Buss. In the early years of her work she succeeded in filling some small volumes, but when they were sought after her death, nothing remained but a few pages with notes of the childhood of her nephews and nieces.