o not suppose that anything ever escapes me in
your letters. I con every little lapse in your spelling until I know it by
heart. And you do make so many slips, you know, in your reviews as well as
in your letters! I never correct them,--that would be a desecration, I
think,--but send up your copy just as it comes to me. Indeed, I find
myself imitating unawares some of your most unaccountable originalities.
Only the other day I was in the reading-room and our head proofreader, a
sour, wizened old man, cried out to me: "I say, Mr. Towers, what is the
matter with your spelling? You write _propotion_[2] for proportion and
_propersition_ for proposition, and get your _r_'s all mixed up
generally!" There was a titter from all the girls in the room. Then said
I: "Thou fool! knowest thou not that Jessica lives in the South, and
treats her _r_'s with royal contempt as she was taught to treat the black
man? And shall I not imitate her in this as in all her high-born
originalities?" Of course I didn't say that aloud, but just thought it to
myself. And really I do wonder sometimes that your excellent father, when
he taught you Latin, should have permitted you to take such liberties with
our good mother tongue. But after all it is only another sign of your
right Southern wilfulness. Do you not take even greater liberties with
poor human souls?

And you make my prophetic powers a bulwark for your licentious rebellion
and declare that you will always escape my bondage. Shall you, indeed? You
once intimated that I wore ass's ears. I begin to believe it. What a
blind, solemn animal I was when I came to Morningtown to beg for your
love! I was so afraid of you. And as we sat in the circle of your
watching, motionless trees, something of their stiff ways entered into my
heart. I told you of my love so solemnly, and you answered so solemnly.
Fool! Fool! I should have spoken not a single word, but just taken you in
my arms and kissed you once and twice. Don't frown now, it is too late.
There would have been one wild, tempestuous outbreak of indignation, and
then my dryad maiden would have known my "foreknowledge" indeed. Is it too
late to rehearse that curtain-raiser? Dear girl, I would be merry, but I
am not so sure that all is well with my heart. I need you so much now, for
I have entered on a new path and the way is obscure before me. I need you.
Your hand in mine would give me the courage I require.

Do you remember how you warned me of