This morning it was beautiful so we all started off early to the Wurts' Villa (old Sciarra Villa) on the Janiculum. Just as we crossed the bridge the bells rang out the Hallelujah (the first time they had rung since Wednesday). They sounded beautiful, so joyous, a real Easter peal. We had a delightful hour in the garden of the Villa. There were armies of workmen in every direction, and the place will be a perfect Paradise. There are fine trees in the garden, masses of rhododendrons, every description of palm, and of course flowers everywhere. The views were divine to-day--the Sabine Mountains with a great deal of snow, Soracte blue and solitary rising straight out of the Campagna, and the Abruzzi snow-topped in the distance. Mr. and Mrs. Wurts were there and showed us all the improvements they intend making. After breakfast I walked about in the Via Sistina looking for some photographs. I wanted to find some of old Rome (at least Rome of 24 years ago) but that seemed hopeless. My artist friend had promised to look in some of his father's old portfolios and see what he could find, but he was not in a business frame of mind this afternoon. He was eating his dinner at his counter, his slouched hat on his head, which he didn't remove while I was talking to him. A young woman with her face tied up in a red fichu was stretched out on the floor behind the counter, sound asleep, her head on a pile of books; another over at the other end of the shop, her chair tilted back, talking sometimes to him and sometimes to people in the street. I suppose my eyes wandered to the one who was asleep, for he instantly said, "She is ill, tired, don't disturb her." He said he hadn't found any old photographs, only one rather bad and half-effaced of Pio IX. I said I wanted one of Antonelli. "E morto lui." I said I knew that, but he _had_ lived however once, and not so very long ago, and had been a person of some importance. He evidently didn't think it worth while to continue that conversation, and had certainly no intention of looking for any photographs for me that day. It was "festa"--Easter Eve--and work was over for him until Monday morning, so I was really obliged to go, he wishing me "buon giorno" and "buona Pasqua" quite cheerfully, without getting up or taking off his hat. I came in to tea, as Mustel was to play. We had about 40 people, and he was much pleased at the way in which every one listened, and appreciated his instrument. Of course he plays it divinely and brings out every sound. Josephine had asked the Marquise Villa Marina to come and hear him. He naturally wants very much to play for Queen Margherita (who is a very good musician and plays the organ herself), and if the Marquise makes a good report the Queen will perhaps send for him to play for her. Easter Sunday, April 3d.