with surprise. Who would think the accomplished Mrs. Willard would admire my poor daubing, or my poor anything else! O dear mamma, I am so happy now! so contented! Every unusual movement startles me. I am constantly afraid of something to mar it."
The next extract is from a letter, the emanation of her affectionate spirit, to a favorite brother seven years old.
"Dear L———, I am obliged to you for your two very interesting epistles, and much doubt whether I could spell more ingeniously myself. Really, I have some idea of sending them to the printers, to be struck off in imitation of a Chinese puzzle. Your questions about the stars I have been cogitating some time past, and am of the opinion that if there are beings inhabiting those heavenly regions, they must be content to feed, chameleon-like, upon air; for even were we disposed to spare them a portion of our earth sufficient to plant a garden, I doubt whether the attraction of gravitation would not be too strong for resistance, and the unwilling clod return to its pale brethren of the valley 'to rest in ease inglorious.' So far from burning your precious letters, my dear little brother, I carefully preserve them in a little pocket-book; and when I feel lonely and desolate, and think of my dear home, I turn them over and over again. Do write often, my sweet little correspondent, and believe me," etc., etc.
Her next letter to her mother, written in March, was in a melancholy strain; but as if to avert her parent's consequent anxieties, she concludes:—
"I hope you will feel no concern for my health or happiness. Do, my dear mother, try to be cheerful, and have good courage."
