It is needless to say that the funeral, and obsequies of this great citizen were surrounded by every observance that could help to mark the nation’s sense of the greatness of the loss it had sustained.  It would be hardly possible to name a corner of Italy that has not by deputation or special official message sought to associate itself with the task of doing him honor.

T.A.T.

A DINNER WITH ROSSI.

“Come and dine with us next Thursday,” said an American literary lady now residing in Paris to a friend or two recently.  “We expect Rossi on that day, and I think you would like to meet him.”

The company was but a small one, the intention of the hostess being not to show off her distinguished guest, but to bring together a few congenial spirits to pass a pleasant hour in his society.  Punctual to the minute, the hero of the occasion entered, his superb physique and majestic presence showing to even greater advantage in the irreproachable evening garb of a finished gentleman than in the velvet and tinsel of his stage attire.  As is the case with almost all really handsome actors or actresses, Rossi is finer-looking off the stage than on it.  The simplicity and refinement of his manners, totally free from anything like affectation or posing for effect, are very noticeable.  His head is noble, both in form and carriage, and he has a way, when eager in conversation, of pushing back the masses of his profuse chestnut hair which gives a sort of leonine look to the broad massive brow and intelligent features.

Once seated at table, the conversation naturally turned upon the dramatic art and upon Shakespeare.  Every person present except the king of the feast was an American, and a Shakespeare fanatic as well.  Rather to the surprise of even his most ardent admirers, the great tragedian proved to be a keen and intelligent Shakespearian scholar, not only of the roles that he has made his own, but also of the whole of the works of the world’s greatest dramatist.

“I date my love for Shakespeare,” said Rossi, “from the time that I was a little child.  My grandfather possessed a set of his plays translated into Italian, and whenever I was restless and unable to go to sleep he would take me into his arms and lull me to rest with tales from these treasured volumes.

“It was I who first introduced Shakespeare in his veritable form on the Italian stage.  Up to that time the classic form had been alone considered admissible for tragedy.  The first play that I produced was Othello.  When in the first scene Brabantio came to the window, the audience began to laugh.  ‘Is this a tragedy?’ they cried—­’a man talking out of a window!’ They laughed all through the first acts.  But,” continued Rossi, looking round with a sudden flash from his expressive eyes, “when the scene with Iago came they ceased to laugh; and henceforward they laughed no more.  At the present time Shakespeare