We went for a day or two to Trieste to meet Lord Bath, and we came in for a scientific excursion by ship, with two hundred people, to Sipar, to Salona, and Pirano, where there was a band and dancing and lunch. About this time, on April 30th, died Gessi Pasha, at Suez; he was Gordon's right-hand man. We had charming walks to hunt for _castellieri_.[1] We walked to Slivno, to Ronchi; drove to Atila's Palace, and got some curios from the ruins. We drove out also to see some new caves, and once we all drove together to see a _Sagra_, or village dance, at Monfalcone, and going in we sat in the carriage to hear the band. Here I must relate a little story showing the force of imagination:-- In the carriage were two of the Princesses, Richard, and me. Suddenly, at the top of a roof, I caught sight of a rat, which appeared to me to be fascinated and spellbound by the music. "Look!" I said. "Don't move; but watch that rat, fascinated by the music." So we all sat and watched it, and thought it a most interesting fact in nature, that rats should share this in common with lizards and snakes and other things. We all saw it move; we all saw its head turn and its tail move, and we kept still, not to frighten it away. It lasted so long, however, that we were compelled to drive on; and next day we sent to inquire, and we found it was made of painted tin, and fixed to the top of a house--an Italian _scherzo_! We then went on to Gorizia--already described--where we dined with Mr. Frederick Smart and his mother, a most beautiful, sweet, and venerable Italian lady, his sister, Mrs. Fehr, and Mr. and Mrs. Baird. Richard afterwards went to study bees with Father Pauletic, of the Deaf and Dumb Institute. We used to spend many hours on the rocks with the Princesses, fishing for crabs, swimming, boating, telling ghost stories, and playing cards. Here we read Sinnett's "Occult World," which I reviewed. The Princess's married son lives at Sagrado--a comfortable gentleman's seat, with a park, stags, good stables, and an unrivalled view. It has a remarkable bath-house in the park. They were both charming people, and we enjoyed our visit to them very much. On the 24th of June, Mr. and Mrs. Freeman, of Somerleaze, and their two daughters (one since became Mrs. Arthur Evans) came over to Duino to see us. It was the day of the horse-fair with the Hungarian Gypsies, which afforded them some amusement. We were very sorry to leave Duino and our friends; but all pleasant things come to an end, and we had to go down to Trieste to prepare to receive our own Squadron. On the 11th of this month our friend, Mr. Andrew Wilson, aged fifty-one, the author of the "Abode of Snow," one of those who wrote the little sketch of Richard's career, died. From _Truth_, July 7, 1881. "Dear Mistress Truth,--I am truly flattered by the genial and un-Grundy-like 'Anecdotal Photograph' of my Husband.