January 16. We have seen Mme. Duse in Goldoni’s “Locandiera”, and in Gabriele d’Annunzio’s “Primavera”, a rotten piece, with which the great little woman did all she could. To-night we see her in “Magda.” The flocking Bostonians are in mid-career; on Sunday afternoons we have a houseful of them. I overheard Mama say to one the other day that she found “Boston more interesting than Rome.” _Quand même_ she is really enjoying herself immensely and is ten years younger than when she sailed. The comfort of her presence is indescribable. The Richard Nortons are here for the winter; he lectures at the American School for Classical Studies. We may have the pleasure of hearing Courtland Palmer play at a concert to-day, but up till last night it was impossible to ascertain. The plays and the programmes of concerts are usually announced on the day of the performance. This is typical of the place and people. Yesterday we heard a good vesper service at St. Agnese in Piazza Navona, the music very fine. The other morning to St. Andrea della Valle to hear a mass by Chaldeans, according to their curious ritual. The Chaldeans looked remarkably like ordinary American negroes dressed in Oriental splendor. Good luck is coming my way, for to-day I have an invitation to take tea with our friend Don R., the _gobbo_, a little South American humpback. You know, of course, that a _gobbo_ brings luck. You must touch him if you can; if you can only manage to rub his hump you are likely to win the prize in the lottery. They say the reason why such people are so vain is that everybody tries to fondle them. His friend who lives with him, Mr. M., is a man so enormous that in the streets of Boston a lady stopped him and asked, “Sir, why are you so fat?” The _gobbo_ may weigh one hundred pounds; his friend the giant must weigh three hundred; they are a most diverting couple. * * * * * Rome. February 26, 1898. Hall Caine has been here for two hours. He got started talking on the subject of the Rossettis. He lived with Dante Gabriel Rossetti for the last eighteen months of his life. Rossetti died in his arms. The horror of the chloral habit which killed him was so indelibly impressed upon Caine’s mind that he could talk of little else, once the train of thought was started. Rossetti wrote the “White Ship” and the “King’s Tragedy” during this time and read both in manuscript to Caine. I am tingling with the pathos and the passion of it all! * * * * *