I stayed there three days. I do not think I am quite at liberty to give an account of what I saw, in these criticizing times, but it was wonderfully interesting, and I had a thorough insight into mediæval Italy, which I renew whenever I get the chance, as it is more than interesting. After three days I went on thence to Milan to see the Certosa of Pavia, one of the most glorious architectural relics in Europe, and from there I went to Pusiano, a now hidden "sanctuary" that will one day become famous to all the world. Pusiano is a village of one street, on the borders of a beautiful little lake, with villages and churches on the opposite bank; it is situated in the Lake Country, and there one lives with the peasantry in primitive style. I stayed there three whole days; it is beautiful in summer, but a terrible snow desolation in winter. It is quite off the railway line, and one gets to it in a little country cart. When I got back to Milan I embarked for home by the St. Gothard, Bâle, to Paris. Paris was black with people in mourning for Victor Hugo. It was his funeral next day; soldiers lined the streets, artillery commanded the two ends of the streets to fire on the people if the red flag was raised. I had much difficulty in getting to the station, for besides being in a hurry to get home, I did not want to be shut up in Paris alone, if anything occurred. Arrived at Boulogne, the passenger-boat was gone, so I took the cargo-boat at one in the night, and arrived at 4.30 a.m. at Folkestone, where the custom-house kept me till about six, searching for dynamite in my baggage, and I arrived in town on the 2nd of June. Somehow I put my arm out, and had to go back to Hutton the bone-setter. Richard did not arrive till twelve days after me. He was delighted when he got on board the _Tarifa_ on the 19th. He then notices the death of Victor Hugo in Paris on May 23rd. He seemed to enjoy the journey thoroughly, and to have got quite rid of the gout the moment he left. He was always thoroughly happy on board a ship, and so sorry when the voyage was over. He never knew what sea-sickness was. He could eat enough for three on board, and when the ship was rolling right round in the water, he would balance himself, holding the ink-bottle in one hand, and writing with the other.