animating motive.... She was, I think, the most unselfish

XV. Georgina Trevellyn to Louisa ----.

. . . . . . To-morrow we're starting for Florence, Truly rejoiced, you may guess, to escape from republican terrors; Mr. C. and Papa to escort us; we by vettura Through Siena, and Georgy to follow and join us by Leghorn. Then---- Ah, what shall I say, my dearest? I tremble in thinking! You will imagine my feelings,--the blending of hope and of sorrow. How can I bear to abandon Papa and Mamma and my Sisters? Dearest Louise, indeed it is very alarming; but, trust me Ever, whatever may change, to remain your loving Georgina.

. . . . . . . 'Do I like Mr. Claude any better?' I am to tell you,--and, 'Pray, is it Susan or I that attract him?' This he never has told, but Georgina could certainly ask him. All I can say for myself is, alas! that he rather repels me. There! I think him agreeable, but also a little repulsive. So be content, dear Louisa; for one satisfactory marriage Surely will do in one year for the family you would establish Neither Susan nor I shall afford you the joy of a second.

Mr. Claude, you must know, is behaving a little bit better; He and Papa are great friends; but he really is too SHILLY-SHALLY,-- So unlike George! Yet I hope that the matte is going on fairly. I shall, however, get George, before he goes, to say something. Dearest Louise, how delightful to bring young people together!

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Is it Florence we follow, or are we to tarry yet longer, E'en amid clamour of arms, here in the city of old, Seeking from clamour of arms in the Past and the Arts to be hidden, Vainly 'mid Arts and the Past seeking one life to forget? Ah, fair shadow, scarce seen, go forth! for anon he shall follow,-- He that beheld thee, anon, whither thou leadest must go! Go, and the wise, loving Muse, she also will follow and find thee! She, should she linger in Rome, were not dissevered from thee!

Yet to the wondrous St. Peter's, and yet to the solemn Rotunda, Mingling with heroes and gods, yet to the Vatican Walls, Yet may we go, and recline, while a whole mighty world seems above us, Gathered and fixed to all time into one roofing supreme; Yet may we, thinking on these things, exclude what is meaner around us; Yet, at the worst of the worst, books and a chamber remain; Yet may we think, and forget, and possess our souls in resistance.-- Ah, but away from the stir, shouting, and gossip of war, Where, upon Apennine slope, with the chestnut the oak-trees immingle, Where, amid odorous copse bridle-paths wander and wind, Where, under mulberry-branches, the diligent rivulet sparkles, Or amid cotton and maize peasants their water-works ply, Where, over fig-tree and orange in tier upon tier still repeated, Garden on garden upreared, balconies step to the sky,-- Ah, that I were far away from the crowd and the streets of the city, Under the vine-trellis laid, O my beloved, with thee!

I. Mary Trevellyn to Miss Roper,--on the way to Florence.