We parted with Shildecker in Venice. He accompanied us to the boat sailing for Trieste, and was sadly broken down, poor boy. When he bade me a dramatic farewell, his face was pale and his eyes had a world of grief in them, and he told me in a voice which trembled, that even if years were to pass, and continents and oceans divided us, I had only to say come, and he’d come. His last words were that he would ever be true to me, and always keep me in his heart, and though always is rather a tremendous word, still, to judge by his dejected aspect, he looked likely to fulfil it. When our boat swerved slowly from the shore, my poor worshipper stood forlorn, contemplating our ship with tortured eyes, and then I vanished out of his life for ever. On my return home my father and brothers found that I looked quite grown-up with my long dress and new style of coiffure. Though far away, I could not forget Jeffrey, and was very happy to receive a long passionate missive from him, enclosed in Mary Vietinghoff’s letter. I devoured the pages with eager joy. Jeffrey wrote that he was broken-hearted since his darling Vava went away, and that he smothered her sweet face with thousands of passionate kisses. My poor, dear, bonny lad! I too was hungering for the sight of him, but half Europe, alas, divided us! For some time I kept up a correspondence with Ettie Ryde, and inspired her with the following poem, in well turned rhymes:— From this large, bustling city My friend has gone. Oh, what a pity! With her I laughed and sang and danced, Since she left me my love is much enhanced She was merry, she was very, very wild, My friend was a naughty, disobedient child. She fell in love with handsome men and boys, And broke their hearts, as children break their toys. She first loved a Greek, of colour dark and sallow, “I always thought him like a candle made of tallow.” But she much admired that dark-eyed Greek; She used to sit by him and softly stroke his cheek. (_White lies._) At length of this Greek youth she grew quite tired, And her heart with love to a young Scotchman was fired. He was young, just turned nineteen, Hair brown, eyes blue, by nature somewhat green. Oh, I can’t tell of that long, long tale of love! He thought her constant, sweet, gentle as a dove. She believed him mild, kind-hearted, very true. Can you tell the names of this young couple, can you? Well, she was no other than Vava, the young princess, She ought to have had more sense, you must confess. He was Jeffrey, the youth from Glasgow town. If they read these verses how they both would frown! Oh, I should like to see dear Vava again! She gave me pleasure, never a moment’s pain. Now, my sweet girl, this poetry I must end, Don’t, oh don’t forget your fond Scotch friend!