As we sat waiting, a rocket went up over the sky from the Quirinal Palace as a signal that the Royal Party had started. In a little while another told that they were approaching; in a moment more Their Majesties arrived in the royal box, the band played, bombs exploded in a salute, and a thousand Roman candles shot up in the black night and burst into a million stars. Soon there was a fizzing, and gradually the gleaming outline of a huge cathedral, which they say can be seen far out on the Campagna, was revealed. This is a design retained from Papal days. All sorts of serpents and wheels and golden rains followed. Then suddenly a fiery dart went hissing above the heads of the people and smashed against a great column in the centre of the square, flying into a dozen pieces, each of which ran on wires to a corner of the piazza, and set off the Bengal lights. And so the celebration ended in the midst of a great red glow. The crowds went away in their thousands, down the Babuino, the Corso, the Ripetta, and the huge searchlights were directed along each of these streets, making them bright as day while the people moved along. But Polly, perhaps like Mr. Dooley you think that “th’ doings iv a king ain’t anny more interestin’ than th’ doings iv a plumber or a baseball player.” * * * * * POLLY TO A. D. _Baden Baden, July._ “I love you just as much as ever, dearest A. D.--Do you love me? Will you be mine?” Checkers is dictating, so don’t be alarmed! What a terrible fire that was! I am sure you were the hero of the occasion. Thank heaven you were not injured! About two weeks ago this time, you and I at the Lido were riding madly on merry-go-rounds, seeing trained fleas, and throwing balls. Tonight my twin and I are going to have a game. You know the old saying--“Lucky at cards, unlucky at love.” I wonder if I shall win or lose. We got so desperate we asked two dreadful Americans to come up for poker. Checkers is having even a more stupid time than I am, but he is becoming very chummy with the proprietor, and was actually roped into going to church, where he passed the plate with an air almost as fine as yours! I know he wants to send messages to you, for he often says, “Well, I really am going to write to A. D. today.” Whether these letters ever get off or not I do not know. The other evening, however, was quite amusing, as the beer garden was full of people, and there was a handsome Italian whom I thought I was falling in love with; he gave a fascinating bicycle performance. I bought his photograph, but after talking with him, I decided I did not like him at all, and threw the picture away.