While we were looking at the relics a French pèlerinage came up--quite a long procession; many very nice-looking women. They were all dressed in black, and most of them wore bonnets--some few had black veils--priests of course, and a fair amount of men of all ages. They passed in procession up the aisle, chanting a psalm, which sounded very well, full and solemn. One or two stragglers, two young men and a woman stopped to see what we were looking at, and we had a little talk. They had just arrived over the St. Gothard, hadn't much time, and were very keen to see everything. They said it was very cold crossing the mountain--the heavy rain we had had at Milan had been deep snow on the pass. We went to look at Queen Theodolinda's tomb in one of the side chapels, and then started for the "Casa Reale" as they call the Royal Villa. It has no pretensions to architecture; is a large square building with long, rambling wings. We could only see the great hall and some of the reception rooms downstairs, as they were painting and cleaning upstairs. The rooms had no particular style--large, high ceilings, great windows looking on the park; just what one sees in all Royal Palaces. All the furniture was covered with housses--the gardien took one off an arm-chair to show us the red velvet. The lustres also were covered--the mirrors were handsome. The park is delightful--quantities of trees of all kinds, lovely shady walks, and bosquets. There seemed to be a great deal of game--deer and pheasants walking about quite tame and undisturbed in all directions. The communs and dépendances are enormous, quite a little colony of houses scattered about--régisseur, head-keeper, head-gardener, all with good gardens. We had a nice talk with a half-gardener half-guide who went about with us and showed us all the beauties. The place is low--I should think would be very warm in summer, for even to-day the shade was pleasant and the low afternoon sun in our faces rather trying. There were splendid views every now and then of the distant Alps. The gardener, like every one else who has ever been thrown with her, apparently adored the Queen--said she knew all about the place, and trees, and flowers, and was so beloved in the town. I remember Peruzzi telling me how fond she was of Monza--happier there than anywhere. They certainly love their "Margherita di Savoia." There are pictures of her everywhere, and some one told us that all the girls in Monza are called Margherita.