We left the quay at four, hung on to a buoy outside the breakwater till midnight, and then left by the _Demerara_ steamship (Cunard), Captain Jones, from Trieste to Venice. At six a.m. we anchored in a rolling sea, with a heavy fog a couple of miles outside the Lido, but at twelve it lifted sufficiently to let us see the entrance to Malamocco, and we got in. It was so raw, damp, and thick, and cold to the bones, that everybody was ill, and we took rooms at the Britannia so long as the ship should stay. We then had a splendid passage to Fiume, where we had a very pleasant time with old friends for nearly a week. On the 25th we had just finished writing up the biography, when they came to tell me that the ship had to sail that day, which caused me a good deal of sorrow, as I was to be left at Fiume; my expenses were not paid, and we personally had not enough money for two, so Richard was to go on to the Guinea Coast alone. I watched the ship till it was out of sight, and felt very lonely. I had supper with Consul Faber, and we looked over his splendid book of "Fishes," which was going home to the "Fisheries." The next day we had an expedition to Tersate with Count and Countess Hoyos, and the following day I went back to Trieste. Meantime Richard went on to Petras and Zante, Messina, Sardinia, Gibraltar, Lisbon, and Madeira. Then arrived at Trieste Lady Mary Primrose, now Lady Mary Hope (Everard Primrose's sister). 1882. [Sidenote: _Life and Incidents of Trieste_.] Our usual parties took place, the children's, the servants', the English party, and the Foreign party; that was a _regular_ Christmas thing. About this time, at the end of January, arrived Mdlle. Sara Bernhardt, who gave us three or four performances. I had the pleasure of calling on her, and found her very charming, and she wrote something for me. Her performance enchanted every one; but the theatre, the only one disengaged, was quite unworthy of her. This year I fretted dreadfully at Richard's absence, and not being allowed to join him, and made myself quite ill. I worked at my usual occupations for the poor, and preventing cruelty to animals, studying and writing, and carrying out all the numerous directions contained in his letters. On the 25th we got the intelligence of poor Captain Selby's (of H.M.S, _Falcon_) death, who was murdered by Albanian shepherds. Two hours after his skull had been broken by the axe of the assailants, he was able to climb on board the ship, and died on the 22nd of February, 1882. He was a brave and good man, and could ill be spared. On the 1st of March I had a telegram from the present Lord Houghton to tell me that his father lay dangerously ill at Athens. He arrived himself at Trieste on the 4th, and I saw him off the same day to Athens.