took my hand, and laid his hand on my shoulder like a brother, and hoped
I would come and see him in his study. I suppose I must go, but I don't
want to. I don't seem to like him exactly.

I hope you love me as well as ever you did. I can't help feeling
sometimes as if you was growing away from me,--you know what I
mean,--getting to be too great a person for such a small person as I am.

I know I can't always understand you when you talk about art, and that
you know a great deal too much for such a simple girl as I am. Oh, if I
thought I could never make you happy!... There, now! I am almost
ashamed to send this paper so spotted. Gifted Hopkins wrote some
beautiful verses one day on "A Maiden Weeping." He compared the tears
falling from her eyes to the drops of dew which one often sees upon the
flowers in the morning. Is n't it a pretty thought?

I wish I loved art as well as I do poetry; but I am afraid I have not so
much taste as some girls have. You remember how I liked that picture in
the illustrated magazine, and you said it was horrid. I have been afraid
since to like almost anything, for fear you should tell me some time or
other it was horrid. Don't you think I shall ever learn to know what is
nice from what is n't?

Oh, dear Clement, I wish you would do one thing to please me. Don't say
no, for you can do everything you try to,--I am sure you can. I want you
to write me some poetry,--just three or four little verses TO SUZIE. Oh,
I should feel so proud to have some lines written all on purpose for me.
Mr. Hopkins wrote some the other day, and printed them in the paper, "To
M---e." I believe he meant them for Myrtle,--the first and last letter
of her name, you see, "M" and "e."