DEAR MISS,--Your spirit of enterprise is really remarkable! I have forwarded your letter to my friends of the Spread Eagle Typewriting and Phonograph Company, Limited, of New York City, informing them of your desire to open an agency for the sale of their machines in Florence, Italy, and giving them my estimate of your business capacities. I have advised their London house to present you with two complimentary machines for your own use and your partner's, and also to supply a number of others for disposal in the city of Florence. If you would further like to undertake an agency for the development of the trade in salt codfish (large quantities of which are, of course, consumed in Catholic Europe), I could put you into communication with my respected friends, Messrs. Abel Woodward and Co., exporters of preserved provisions, St John, Newfoundland. But, perhaps in this suggestion I am not sufficiently high-toned.--Respectfully, CYRUS W. HITCHCOCK. The moment had arrived for Elsie to be firm. 'I have no prejudice against trade, Brownie,' she observed emphatically; 'but I do draw the line at salt fish.' 'So do I, dear,' I answered. She sighed her relief. I really believe she half expected to find me trotting about Florence with miscellaneous samples of Messrs. Abel Woodward's esteemed productions protruding from my pocket. So to Florence we went. My first idea was to travel by the Brenner route through the Tyrol; but a queer little episode which met us at the outset on the Austrian frontier put a check to this plan. We cycled to the border, sending our trunks on by rail. When we went to claim them at the Austrian Custom-house, we were told they were detained 'for political reasons.' 'Political reasons?' I exclaimed, nonplussed. 'Even so, Fraeulein. Your boxes contain revolutionary literature.' 'Some mistake!' I cried, warmly. I am but a drawing-room Socialist. 'Not at all; look here.' And he drew a small book out of Elsie's portmanteau. What? Elsie a conspirator? Elsie in league with Nihilists? So mild and so meek! I could never have believed it. I took the book in my hands and read the title, 'Revolution of the Heavenly Bodies.' 'But this is astronomy,' I burst out. 'Don't you see? Sun-and-star circling. The revolution of the planets.' 'It matters not, Fraeulein. Our instructions are strict. We have orders to intercept _all_ revolutionary literature without distinction.' 'Come, Elsie,' I said, firmly, 'this is _too_ ridiculous. Let us give them a clear berth, these Kaiserly-Kingly blockheads!' So we registered our luggage right back to Lucerne, and cycled over the Gotthard. [Illustration: PAINTING THE SIGN-BOARD.]