Two more letters by the evening mail; one having the features of the “Re Galantuomo” upon the postage stamps, is from a young American music student in Florence, a pupil of Hans Von Buelow, who will, upon her return to her own country, be known as one of our finest amateur pianists.

There is also a letter from our estimable friend, Miss Booth, the accomplished Editress of Harper’s Bazar.  She will spend next Saturday with us, accompanied by her friend, Mrs. Wright.

September 20.

Ida went down to the city yesterday, to see both her lawyer and dress-maker, saying that she would return by the half past six o’clock train.  We went down accordingly to meet the cars, but she did not arrive upon them; a telegram, however, was shortly sent up to the house, announcing that she would come on the eight o’clock train, accompanied by Mrs. and Miss Wiss.

“Mrs. Wiss!” exclaimed mamma, upon reading the telegram, “who can she be?  I do not know any such person.”

Gabrielle could not remember any one by the name of Wiss among Ida’s friends, and suggested that the ladies might be old friends of her father’s, whom Ida had never before seen; so remarking that the eight o’clock train was a late one for ladies to travel upon alone, mamma rang for Minna, and told her to delay our tea an hour and a half longer.

When we heard the footsteps of the travellers upon the piazza, we all went out with some curiosity to meet our unknown visitors.  For a moment we were speechless, as we recognized in the matron of the party, Ida’s charming Southern friend, Mrs. Ives, and in the tall young man (her son) who accompanied her, the supposed Miss Wiss.  How the telegraph operator could have so confused the names, no one could imagine.

Mrs. Ives is a brilliant talker, and a woman of great polish and high family connections.  She has lived North for several years, but will return to Baltimore this winter to our great regret, for her picturesque home near the Manhattanville Convent was a most delightful place to spend an hour, while listening to the entertaining conversation of the hostess, and the exquisite harp-playing of her sister.

September 25.

A letter this morning from the little sculptress, Vinnie Ream.  She is at Washington, and writes me that she has sold her bust of dear uncle to the Cornell University.  I have not seen the bust since it was put into marble, but when I saw it in clay at her New York studio two years ago, I considered it a spirited and excellent likeness.  Vinnie is full of the high courage that never deserts her through all of her trials from public and private criticism, and she has my best wishes for a bright and successful future.

September 28.

Two arrivals by the morning train:  Mrs. Gibbons, a friend of many years of dear uncle, Aunt Mary, and mamma, and a lady at whose hospitable residence uncle often found a pleasant home, when his family were absent, and Lucy White, an intimate friend of Ida and myself.