Wherefore and how I am certain, I hardly can tell; but it is so. 
  She doesn’t like me, Eustace; I think she never will like me. 
  Is it my fault, as it is my misfortune, my ways are not her ways? 
  Is it my fault, that my habits and modes are dissimilar wholly? 
  ’Tis not her fault, ’tis her nature, her virtue, to misapprehend them: 
  ’Tis not her fault, ’tis her beautiful nature, not even to know me. 
  Hopeless it seems,—­yet I cannot, hopeless, determine to leave it: 
  She goes,—­therefore I go; she moves,—­I move, not to lose her.

  XIII.—­CLAUDE TO EUSTACE.

  Oh, ’tisn’t manly, of course, ’tisn’t manly, this method of wooing;
  ’Tisn’t the way very likely to win.  For the woman, they tell you,
  Ever prefers the audacious, the wilful, the vehement hero;
  She has no heart for the timid, the sensitive soul; and for knowledge,—­
  Knowledge, O ye gods!—­when did they appreciate knowledge? 
  Wherefore should they, either?  I am sure I do not desire it.

  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.