Madame Minghetti--the wife of the famous statesman--receives every Sunday twilight. Rome flocks there to hear music and to admire the artistic manner in which the rooms are arranged; flirtations are rife in the twilit corners, in which the salon abounds. As Madame Minghetti is very musical and appreciative, all the people one meets there pretend to be musical and appreciative, and do not talk or flirt during the music; so when I sing "Medjé" in the growing crepuscule I feel in perfect sympathy with my audience. Tosti and I alternate at the piano when there is nothing better. If no one else enjoys us, we enjoy each other. I have always wanted very much to see the famous Garibaldi, and knowing he was in Rome I was determined to get a glimpse of him. But how could it be done? I had been told that he was almost unapproachable, and that he disliked strangers above all. However, where there is a will there seems to come a way; at any rate, there did come one, and this is how it came: At dinner at the French Embassy J sat next to Prince Odescalchi, and told him of my desire to see Garibaldi. He said: "Perhaps I can manage it for you. I have a friend who knows a friend of Garibaldi, and it might be arranged through him." "Then," I said, "your friend who is a friend of Garibaldi's will let you know, and as you are a friend of my friend you will let _her_ know, and she will let _me_ know." "It sounds very complicated," he answered, laughing, "and is perhaps impossible; but we will do our best." No more than two days after this dinner there came a message from the Prince to say that, if Mrs. Haseltine and I would drive out to Garibaldi's villa, the friend and the friend of the friend would be there to meet us and present us. This we did, and found the two gentlemen awaiting us at the gate. I felt my heart beat a little faster at the thought of seeing the great hero. Garibaldi was sitting in his garden, in a big, easy, wicker chair, and looked rather grumpy, I thought (probably he was annoyed at being disturbed). But he apparently made up his mind to accept the inevitable, and, rising, came toward us, and on our being presented stretched out a welcoming hand. He had on a rather soiled cape, and a _foulard,_ the worse for wear, around his neck, where the historical red shirt was visible. His head, with its long hair, was covered with a velvet _calotte._ He looked more like an invalid basking in the sun with a shawl over his legs than he did like the hero of my imagination, and the only time he did look at all military was when he turned sharply to his parrot, who kept up an incessant chattering, and said, in a voice full of command, "Taci!" which the parrot did not in the least seem to mind (I hope Garibaldi's soldiers obeyed him better). Garibaldi apologized for the parrot's bad manners by saying, "He is very unruly, but he talks well"; and added, with a rusty smile, "Better than his master."