when there was a terrible fire, he found the King among the _vigiles_ (firemen), giving orders and helping generally in a most dangerous place, where a wall was on the point of crumbling that might have fallen and crushed him. The _Capo_ remonstrated with the King and begged him to go away. The King refused; he liked the active stir and rush and being able to do something besides planning and thinking, which were not in his line. Then the _Capo_ said: “Majesty, perhaps you have a right to risk your life, but have you the right to risk ruining me?” The King saw the justice of the plea and sadly retired to his palace. He has looked old and worried lately and above all puzzled. He wanted so much to do the right thing, but did not seem to know how to do it. I believe now he has gone that account will be taken of the giant strides Italy has made during his reign and that he will be found to have been a more significant figure than his critics have realized. * * * * * August 5, 1900. It was lumbago. How did you hear about it? Who do you suppose cured me? Henry James. He came to lunch one day early in July. I managed to struggle into an armchair and sit at table. Before he left he told me he had suffered much from this devil and that he had found the only cure for it “perspiration!” only he didn’t use that vulgar word of course; this is what he did say: “Believe me, dear lady, there is but one cure for lumbago,--transpiration, transpiration. Only transpire freely enough, and it disappears, but alas! it is a malady that returns.” After he had left with J. I managed to crawl up to the terrace at four o’clock of a broiling July afternoon, found an old broom, and while the heat was positively grilling, swept the terrace from end to end. I got into a perfect bath of “transpiration”, rolled into bed where I gradually cooled off, slept like a top and awoke next day cured. August 6, 1900. Grave news. The two big canvases have been taken off the stretchers and rolled up. The engineer of the palace forbade J. remaining longer in his studio. The cracks in the walls have been growing wider and wider. The engineer said, and Boni bore him out, that there was danger the roof might fall in any day and destroy both artist and pictures. * * * * *