I have been up the Splügen, and on the Stelvio also: Neither of these can I find they have followed; in no one inn, and This would be odd, have they written their names. I have been to Porlezza; There they have not been seen, and therefore not at Lugano. What shall I do? Go on through the Tyrol, Switzerland, Deutschland, Seeking, an inverse Saul, a kingdom to find only asses? There is a tide, at least, in the _love_ affairs of mortals, Which, when taken at flood, leads on to the happiest fortune,— Leads to the marriage-morn and the orange-flowers and the altar, And the long lawful line of crowned joys to crowned joys succeeding.— Ah, it has ebbed with me! Ye gods, and when it was flowing, Pitiful fool that I was, to stand fiddle-faddling in that way! IV. CLAUDE TO EUSTACE,—_from Bellaggio_. I have returned and found their names in the book at Como. Certain it is I was right, and yet I am also in error. Added in feminine hand, I read, _By the boat to Bellaggio_.— So to Bellaggio again, with the words of her writing to aid me. Yet at Bellaggio I find no trace, no sort of remembrance. So I am here, and wait, and know every hour will remove them. V. CLAUDE TO EUSTACE,—_from Bellaggio_. I have but one chance left,—and that is going to Florence. But it is cruel to turn. The mountains seem to demand me,— Peak and valley from far to beckon and motion me onward. Somewhere amid their folds she passes whom fain I would follow; Somewhere among those heights she haply calls me to seek her. Ah, could I hear her call! could I catch the glimpse of her raiment! Turn, however, I must, though it seem I turn to desert her; For the sense of the thing is simply to hurry to Florence, Where the certainty yet may be learnt, I suppose, from the Ropers! VI. MARY TREVELLYN, _from Lucerne_, TO MISS ROPER, _at Florence_.