In spring we hired a villa on the Colline above Turin. The house was in a garden, with a terrace, whence the ground sank rapidly to the plain; low hills, clothed with chestnut forests, abounding in lilies of the valley, surrounded us behind. The summer had been stormy, and one evening we walked on the terrace to look at the lightning, which was very fine, illuminating the chain of Alps. By-and-by it ceased, and the darkness was intense; but we continued to walk, when, to our surprise, a pale bluish light rose in the Val di Susa, which gradually spread along the summit of the Alps, and the tops of the hills behind our house; then a column of the same pale blue light, actually within our reach, came curling up from the slope close to the terrace, exactly as if wet weeds had been burning. In about ten minutes the whole vanished; but in less than a quarter of an hour the phenomena were repeated exactly as described, and were followed by a dark night and torrents of rain. It was a very unusual instance of what is known as electric glow; that is, electricity without tension. On our road to Genoa, we went to see some kind Piedmontese friends, who have a chateau in the Monferrat, not many miles from Asti, where we left the railroad. We had not gone many miles when the carriage we had hired was upset, and, although nobody had broken bones, I got so severe a blow on my forehead that I was confined to bed for nearly a month, and my face was black and blue for a much longer time. Nothing could equal the unwearied kindness of our friends during my illness. When I was able to travel, we went to Genoa for the winter, and lived on the second floor of a large house on the Acqua Sola, and overlooking the sea. Here first began our friendship with the Marchesa Teresa Doria, whose maiden name was Durazzo; in her youth one of the handsomest women in Genoa, a lady distinguished for her generous character and cultivated mind, and who fearlessly avowed her opinions at a time when it was a kind of disgrace to be called a Liberal. Her youngest son, Giacomo, has devoted his life to the study of natural history, and his mother used all her influence to encourage and help him in a pursuit so unusual amongst people of rank in this country. Later, he travelled in Persia for two years, to make collections, and since then resided for a long time in Borneo, and is now arranging a museum in his native city. The Marchesa has always been a warm and devoted friend to me and mine. It was here that we got our dear old parrot Lory, who is still alive and merry. * * * * * Our next move was to Florence, where we already knew many people. We had a lease of a house in Via del Mandorlo, which had a small garden and a balcony, where we often sat and received in the warm summer evenings. My daughters had adorned it and the garden with rare creepers, shrubs, and flowers.