At present all my thoughts are occupied with Garibaldi, and, far from my excitement decreasing after seeing him, it is just the contrary. Since I saw him drive past; since I saw that face, though only for a moment, that expression, which I shall never forget in all my life, my wish to approach him more closely, to speak to him, has become a restless desire. Last night, I dreamed only of Garibaldi!

Oh! It seems to me so small, so paltry, to write an 'Address' or anything of that sort, just as, when I first saw the Alps, all words seemed too shallow to describe them! On Monday, at 1 o'clock, we went to a coffee-house in the Strand, to witness Garibaldi's entrance. The crowd was so dense as only to be compared to a sea, a human, almost motionless sea, yet every wave of which had life and movement. Boys climbed up to the very reliefs of Nelson's statue; three had mounted the horse of Charles I, one of whom put his arm round the neck of the King and waved a red handkerchief. Every point, every corner, every lamp-post was thickly covered with human beings, and the whole, seen from the Strand, afforded a magnificent amphitheatrical picture.

There was no artistic effect, the houses were not decorated either with flags or draperies; it was merely the colossal masses of people, the hundreds of thousands of uplifted faces, all turned in one direction, which lent majesty to the spectacle. Hour after hour passed. A great procession of workmen came along, Freemasons, Italians, Poles, with waving flags and bands of music. Every eye strained to

see Garibaldi in the distance. In vain. My heart beat quite painfully. The procession had already vanished out of sight, and yet no Garibaldi. Again the hours passed. A gray mist overspread the Square; the people grew restless. Then a dull and distant murmur was heard, rolling like an advancing thunderstorm; and at last, at last, one distinguished in the distance loud shouts and hurrahs; one saw the waving of handkerchiefs and flags; nearer and nearer drew the interminable uproar of thousands of voices; close to us at last it broke forth from innumerable human throats, and slowly, slowly, the carriage pressed upon by the crowd approached. Garibaldi was standing up, like a Roman hero in his triumph, but beloved and idolized by the people as no Roman victor ever was, for this was not his capital, which he had glorified by his fame, into which he made his entry, but a foreign town, a foreign people.

The sight of the people pressing round him, kissing his hand, almost crushing him, closing behind his carriage like two mighty waves parted for a moment by a ship and meeting again, was inexpressibly. noble and touching, and never to be forgotten. At last I could see him plainly,- could see, though only for a moment, the expression of noble heroism and really divine kindness that beamed on his face,— and then, all had vanished in mist and darkness, and only the jubilation and movement of the crowd told that it was no dream, but reality.

If such men existed in the old dark ages, it is, indeed, no wonder that the people made gods and demigods of

them, for where else, in all nature, is the divine so immediately revealed to mankind! Enviable and happy those who are his hosts, who can care for him and read his every wish in his eyes. I read Colonel Vecchi's book on Garibaldi at the right moment, when I was incapable of doing anything but read about the hero. What specially touched me in the story was when Garibaldi goes out at night to seek the lost lamb, takes it to his bed and feeds it, so that no one should hear it; and then, when he g ves Vecchi the key and says, 'Come and amuse yourself'; and then, when he says, 'Poor boy, born at the foot of a throne, perhaps, and not by his own fault hurled from it; he too will have to feel the bitterness of exile without preparation'; and again, 'It was the duty of all of us to go, else how could there have been a united Italy?'; and then, when he says, 'Ah! why am I not twenty years younger! old and worn, I am a useless instrument of the majestic will of the people'; and 'when God puts you in the way of doing good, do it and hold your tongue. It is my duty to set a good example to these dear children.'

It is also touching how he treats flowers and animals; inexpressibly kind. I can quite understand how such a man charms all who know him.

It was really wonderful, during Garibaldi's visit to London, how all thought in that vast city centred on the one man. People seemed to lose their stiffness, shyness, and formality; their tongues were loosened; and there was a link between their thoughts that made them all feel no longer strangers to each other. It was wonderful how in the street, in the omnibus, in the train, the name of Garibaldi dwelt on every lip. Fine ladies spoke it to little beggar boys, asking whether the hero would pass that way; little children called to

crossing sweepers to know whether they had seen Garibaldi; shop keepers ran out of their shops, leaving everything open to be stolen, to get a glimpse of the people's darling. It was like an electric fluid passing through three millions of beating hearts; making everyone feel (alas! for a short time only) the brotherhood of human beings; the equality of feeling tearing down all the partitions that keep man asunder from man; perhaps the foreshadowing of an era of real and changeless fraternity. There seems to be a void in the air and in hearts since Garibaldi has left; something dear and precious gone from among us.

When I was walking down Park Lane, there were a number of street boys gathered round a house; I asked them what they were standing there for; they said they were expecting Garibaldi, so I, thinking he might be coming soon, stood still a little. A poor man drew his picture on the pavement getting a penny by it. A little Italian girl came to me in the street and gabbled a great deal of Italian to me, of which I only understood the word constantly repeated, of ‘fame, fame'; so, as I had no change by me, I told her to come home with me, and asked her if she had seen Garibaldi. She said 'Yes.' And did she love him? 'No, I love the Pope,' was the answer of the little thing; so I talked to her very vehemently, telling her that if Garibaldi were in Rome instead of the Pope, he would take care of poor people and of her, and would not let them want food and clothes, and would build schools for the poor children to learn and be comfortable at, instead of letting them run about the streets in rags, making music. 'Garibaldi loves all poor people,' I said, 'and would help them all if he could, so you should like him too little girl.' She had very bright, intelligent eyes, and understood me quite

well, I think, and she said she would in future. You see, I have turned into a kind of missionary!

The other day, Madame Saffi let me know that, now that Garibaldi had let himself be persuaded by the government to go away, she would have nothing more to do with him, and considered it superfluous to send an address of congratulation unless it came entirely from Englishwomen, in order to persuade him to remain longer. Madame Saffi, having thus withdrawn from the matter, a number of Englishwomen also retired, and the time was too short to get others. Without an Englishwoman of name, nothing could be done, and one would expose one's self to be laughed at.

It had been arranged that twelve women and twelve girls should present an address; the girls dressed in white with aprons in the Italian colors, and carrying either a nosegay or a wreath of laurel. In case Garibaldi remained only a few days longer, it might be managed, for Mrs. F, who would join us, sent me word that Mary Howitt, the celebrated author, would probably place herself at the head. Mrs. F was quite unhappy that it fell to the ground. It is the fault of so much incredible hesitation and delay! But one might send an address to Caprera, should Garibaldi really go away on Friday, which I trust will not be the case. A grand demonstration of the English people to induce him to remain would be the only thing that could detain him. The whole affair originated, of course, with the French Government, and is abominable. Last Monday early, at 8.30, we went to Stafford House. We had given up all hope of having Garibaldi at Our house, as he was overwhelmed with invitations.

We were led into a large, cold-looking reception room, where already

many English families were waiting. Saffi and Guerzoni, Garibaldi's secretary, came and said that Garibaldi, would soon come. My heart beat violently when at last people said: 'The General is coming!'

He came in, in his now well-known costume, his gray mantle thrown picturesquely back over his shoulder, a kind smile on his lips. He is rather stout than tall, and still walks with some difficulty. His head has something lion-like; his beard is reddish mixed with gray; his hands and feet are small. The forehead and nose form a perfectly straight line; the eyes are not large, dark brown in color, frank, open, honest, truthful, and very kind in expression. The whole face bears the impress of great firmness and energy. The deep wrinkles round the eyes show that he has been exposed to all weathers, but, on the whole, he does not look at all suffering. On the contrary, he looked well and healthy. But I must confess that he did not make, at close quarters, the immense and magical impression on me which I expected. I had perhaps read too much about the beaming smile which quite altered his face, and, apart from all that he has done, of his overwhelming and, as many said, electrifying personality, not to be disappointed.

I was much quieter than I had expected to be. When we were introduced to him, he begged me to be seated, and there was some conversation, and then he went to greet others who had come to shake hands with him, which he did with great willingness. When these people had left, he came to us again and said, 'Je suis enchanté de faire votre connaissance.' We explained that it was impossible to present the address at the Crystal Palace, as Guerzoni had proposed, for there was no time to give proper notice. 'Mon cher ami,' answered Gari

baldi, vous pouvez faire tout-à-fait comme vous voulez.' He said something more of that sort, and then we told him how sorry we were that he could not come and dine with us. 'Ne pourrai-je pas venir à présent?' he asked. 'J'aime les choses faites dans le moment, sans préparation. Si vous voulez bien me recevoir, je viendrai avec vous.' We said we should be only too happy if he would go with us. 'Oh, vous êtes trop bonnes, mesdames,' and then he asked how far it was, and when he heard that Ledru-Rollin lived quite near, he wanted to visit him, too, and ordered the carriage. Meanwhile so many other visitors had arrived, that he had to leave us to speak to them. One gentleman and a lady seemed to be old friends from America. He sat a little way from us on a sofa, and spoke eagerly with the lady, shaking her hand and saying several times, 'Je suis enchanté de vous voir!' I heard him say that strange things happened in life; he had fought for eight years in America and was never wounded; and also during the Italian war in 1860 nothing happened to him, and only at Aspromonte had an unlucky ball hit him; ‘La balle est allé par là,' he said and pointed to the place. After the Americans had left, Mrs. C came and drew Garibaldi into a corner, where she talked eagerly to him. I heard him say more than ten times, 'It is not possible; it is impossible, it is not possible'-he pronounced the second i very long. The lady would not let him go, held him by the elbow, and seemed to me like a little noisy dog barking round a majestic Newfoundland. At last he said, 'I will speak to you presently, Mrs. C-,' and turned to two very interesting-looking Italians, who had been waiting a long time in a window recess. With these he spoke a long time in Italian. Then Menotti Garibaldi came with a few young men,

whom he introduced to his father, who spoke a few words to each. Then the door opened again, and about ten men entered, who seemed eager to have his autograph, for he sat down with the greatest good-humor and, resting several pieces of paper on the top of a hat, wrote his name and gave it to the gentlemen. I was almost in despair, for I thought it would get too late for him to go with us. At last the carriage was announced, and Garibaldi took up his small felt cap, and came to us, saying, 'Maintenant je suis tout-à-fait à votre disposition,' gave his arm to my mother, and we went through all the row of bowing visitors. On the way he said good morning to the Duke of Sutherland. Outside a great crowd had collected round the carriage, shouting with joy. I said that it must be a wonderful contrast to him to be transported from the quiet island of Caprera to this stormy life. 'Oh, oui,' he replied, ‘depuis que je suis en Angleterre, je n'ai pas un moment où je suis à moi seul, où je puis penser. Londres est un monde, la foule lundi était vraiment immense.' 'On vous adore comme un dieu,' said M- 'le peuple vous aime tant.' I believe such remarks do not please him; he seems to me very modest, and he said, 'Ca n'est pas du feu de paille que ça aura un résultat pour la cause, pour l'Italie.'

Among other things he said, 'Je suis amoureux de la solitude.' B- - turned the conversation to Schleswig-Holstein, and tried to explain the situation. Garibaldi passed his hand across his forehead and said, 'Oh, cette question est bien obscure. C'est triste que les peuples ne comprennent pas encore la liberté, même s'ils la cherchent pour euxmêmes, ils ne donnent pas à leurs voisins.'

We had arrived at home, and, as it would have been troublesome to Garibaldi to climb the stairs, we remained in the dining room. We made excuses

that nothing was ready, as we had not expected him to come that day, and he said, ‘Si vous venez chez moi à Caprera, vous le trouverez encore beaucoup plus simple.' The quiet seemed to do him good. He praised the Rhine wine we offered and said, ‘Ah, l'Allemagne a du bon vin, l'Italie aussi pouvait l'avoir et en grande quantité; c'est la faute de son gouvernement qu'elle ne l' a pas; mais ce l'a serait une trop longue histoire à vous conter maintenant. Ca prendrait des heures, mais l'Italie est très mal gouvernée, énormement mal gouvernée.' He said, too, 'Les Italiens sont trop mous, c'est la faute de leurs prêtres.' He said all this with great emphasis. When he says something of that kind, his harmonious voice acquires a really grand and penetrating tone. He also said that he wished to speak of Poland, that we ought not to let Poland die, for she gave an example that all people ought to imitate; everything ought to be done to succor Poland; she alone threw herself against tyrants; she did not cry for help like other peoples, nor for money or arms; if she had no sword, she took an axe; she would die, but not submit.

Ennobling, touching, and unforget table was the fire with which he said all this. When we showed him his portrait he said he had never worn such a hat, nor a crooked sword. A few more words were exchanged; then he got up to go to Ledru-Rollin and thanked us for our kind reception, and then I said I should never have been happy if he had not come. He left us with a warm pressure of the hand. In the quiet street before our door, the people had seemed to rise out of the ground to see the beloved hero; neighbors thrust their hands through the railings; children held out flowers; and amid enthusiastic hurrahs the carriage drove away.

A little later, O came and I went

with her to Ledru-Rollin's that she might see Garibaldi. We could hardly get in, such a crowd was at the door. Garibaldi sat on the sofa, LedruRollin opposite, in earnest conversation about the best form of government. Ledru-Rollin set forth at great length that a dictatorship was the only possible form after a revolution; that the French Republic in 1848 was destroyed for want of such a dictatorship, but that, as soon as the feeling for and understanding of freedom should have penetrated the whole nation, it should be left to the people to choose the particular form. Garibaldi declared that he was of quite the same opinion.

Ledru-Rollin was much pleased and said repeatedly that he was very happy that they agreed, to which Garibaldi replied, in French, 'What is wanting in the peoples who wish for liberty is unity, our principal object should now be to obtain it. Kings never move alone; they make treaties, they give each other their hands, but not to the peoples, who fight isolated, not yet aware that unity would render them invincible. invincible. Look at Poland, she is alone!' Garibaldi repeated his words about Poland, and insisted on the unity of all leaders.

This interview was the most interesting, to me, of all the time I was together with Garibaldi. All that he said was so great, so simple, so spontaneous, coming from the bottom of his heart. For the moment one was quite lifted out of one's self, raised above all commonplace to the pure ether of a higher, nobler love of humanity. A shiver ran through me; it was a glimpse of mighty feeling suddenly exhibited, with illimitable consequences; no longer men, but principles; ideas of incalculable importance.

When he left, Garibaldi said to Ledru-Rollin, 'Count on me always as one of your friends; believe me, it is