The countess is discovered at her ommerlu {100b} writing-table. A light zephyr {100c} plays with her golden locks {100d} and caresses her Grecian {100e} nose—a nose that carries on its surface a few trifling freckles, which serve but to call attention to its exquisite purity of outline and the height of its ambition. Her eyes reflect the changing shadows of moonlight, and her mouth is one fit for sweet sounds; {100f} yet this only gives you a faint idea of the beauteous creature whose fortunes we shall follow in our next number. {100g} I have given that style a fair trial, my dear darling, but I cannot stand it another minute, not being familiar with the language of what our cook used to call the ‘fuddal aristocracy’ (feudal, you know). I, your faithful Polly, am seated in the card-room, writing with a dreadful pen which Phil gave me yesterday. Its internal organs are filled with ink, which it disgorges when _pressed_ to do so, but just now it is ‘too full for utterance,’ as you will see by the blots. We have decided not to make this a real round-robin letter, like the last, because we want to write what we like, and not have it read by the person who comes next. I have been badgered to death over my part of the communication sent to you last week, for the young persons connected with this camp have a faculty of making mountains out of mole-hills, as you know, and I have to suffer for every careless little speech. However, as we didn’t wish to bore you with six duplicate letters, we invented a plan for keeping off each other’s ground, and appointed Geoff a committee of one to settle our line of march. It is to be a collective letter, made up of individual notes; and these are Geoff’s sealed orders, which must be obeyed, on pain of dismissal from the camp: No. 1 (Polly) is to amuse! No. 2 (Phil) . . . inform. No. 3 (Geoff) . . . edify!! No. 4 (Madge) . . . gossip. No. 5 (Bell) . . . versify. No. 6 (Jack) . . . illustrate. So, my dear, if you get any ‘information’ or happen to be ‘edified’ by what I write, don’t mention it for worlds! (I just screamed my fears about this matter to Jack, and he says ‘I needn’t fret.’ I shall certainly slap that boy before the summer is over.)