Ah, and I feel too, Eustace, she cares not a tittle about me! (Care about me, indeed! and do I really expect it?) But my manner offends; my ways are wholly repugnant; Every word that I utter estranges, hurts, and repels her; Every moment of bliss that I gain, in her exquisite presence, Slowly, surely, withdraws her, removes her, and severs her from me. Not that I care very much!--any way, I escape from the boy's own Folly, to which I am prone, of loving where it is easy. Yet, after all, my Eustace, I know but little about it. All I can say for myself, for present alike and for past, is, Mary Trevellyn, Eustace, is certainly worth your acquaintance. You couldn't come, I suppose, as far as Florence, to see her? XIV.--GEORGINA TREVELLYN TO LOUISA ------. * * * To-morrow we're starting for Florence, Truly rejoiced, you may guess, to escape from republican terrors; Sir. 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 Louisa, indeed it is very alarming; but trust me Ever, whatever may change, to remain your loving Georgina. P.S. BY MARY TREVELLYN. * * * "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. P.S. BY GEORGINA TREVELLYN. 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 matter is going on fairly. I shall, however, get George, before he goes, to say something. Dearest Louisa, how delightful, to bring young people together! * * * * * Is it to Florence we follow, or are we to tarry yet longer, E'en amid clamor of arms, here in the city of old, Seeking from clamor of arms in the Past and the Arts to be hidden, Vainly 'mid Arts and the Past seeking our 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! [To be continued.] A WELSH MUSICAL FESTIVAL.