her guide,
Where Solon awed the ruler; there they grow,
Weak as they are, on cliffs that few can climb.
None to thy steps are inaccessible,
Theodosia! wakening Italy with song
Deeper than Filicaia's, or than his,
The triple deity of plastic art.
Mindful of Italy and thee, fair maid!
I lay this sear, frail garland at thy feet."

Mrs. Trollope is still a young woman, and it is sincerely to be hoped
that improved health will give her the proper momentum for renewed
exertions in a field where nobly sowing she may nobly reap.

Ah, this Villino Trollope is quaintly fascinating, with its marble
pillars, its grim men in armor, starting like sentinels from the walls,
and its curiosities greeting you at every step. The antiquary revels in
its _majolica_, its old Florentine bridal chests and carved furniture,
its beautiful terra-cotta of the Virgin and Child by Orgagna, its
hundred _oggetti_ of the Cinque Cento. The bibliopole grows silently
ecstatic, as he sinks quietly into a mediaeval chair and feasts his eyes
on a model library, bubbling over with five thousand rare books, many
wonderfully illuminated and enriched by costly engravings. To those who
prefer (and who does not?) an earnest talk with the host and hostess on
politics, art, religion, or the last new book, there is the cozy
_laisser-faire_ study where Miss Puss and Bran, the honest dog, lie side
by side on Christian terms, and where the sunbeam Beatrice, when _very_
beaming, will sing to you the _canti popolari_ of Tuscany, like a young
nightingale in voice, though with more than youthful expression. Here
Anthony Trollope is to be found, when he visits Florence; and it is no
ordinary pleasure to enjoy simultaneously the philosophic reasoning of
Thomas Trollope,--looking half Socrates and half Galileo,--whom Mrs.
Browning was wont to call "Aristides the Just," and the almost boyish
enthusiasm and impulsive argumentation of Anthony Trollope, who is a
noble specimen of a thoroughly frank and loyal Englishman. The unity of
affection existing between these brothers is as charming as it is rare.

Then in spring, when the soft winds kiss the budding foliage and warm it
into bloom, the beautiful terrace of Villino Trollope is transformed
into a reception-room. Opening upon a garden, with its lofty pillars,
its tessellated marble floor, its walls inlaid with terra-cotta,
bas-reliefs, inscriptions, and coats-of-arms, with here and there a
ni