ten written sickly poetry, I do not doubt--I have been sickly
myself!)--has been called by much harder names, 'affected' for instance,
a charge I have never deserved, for I do think, if I may say it of
myself, that the desire of speaking or _spluttering_ the real truth out
broadly, may be a cause of a good deal of what is called in me careless
and awkward expression. My friends took some trouble with me at one
time; but though I am not self-willed naturally, as you will find when
you know me, I hope, I never could adopt the counsel urged upon me to
keep in sight always the stupidest person of my acquaintance in order to
clear and judicious forms of composition. Will you set me down as
arrogant, if I say that the longer I live in this writing and reading
world, the more convinced I am that the mass of readers _never_ receive
a poet (you, who are a poet yourself, must surely observe that) without
intermediation? The few understand, appreciate, and distribute to the
multitude below. Therefore to say a thing faintly, because saying it
strongly sounds odd or obscure or unattractive for some reason, to
'careless readers,' does appear to me bad policy as well as bad art. Is
not art, like virtue, to be practised for its own sake first? If we
sacrifice our ideal to notions of immediate utility, would it not be
better for us to write tracts at once?

Of course any remark of yours is to be received and considered with all
reverence. Only, be sure you please to say, 'Do it differently to
satisfy _me_, John Ruskin,' and not to satisfy Mr., Mrs., and the Miss
and Master Smith of the great majority. The great majority is the
majority of the little, you know, who will come over to you if you don't
think of them--and if they don't, you will bear it.

Am I pert, do you think? No, _don't_ think it. And the truth is, though
you may not see that, that your praise made me feel very humble. Nay, I
was quite _abashed_ at the idea of the 'illumination' of my poem; and
still I keep winking my eyes at the prospect of so much glory. If you
were a woman, I might say, when one feels ugly one pulls down the
blinds; but as a man you are superior to the understanding of such a
figure, and so I must simply tell you that you honor me over much
indeed. My husband is very much pleased, and particularly pleased that
you selected 'Catarina,' which is his favourite among my poems for some
personal fanciful reasons besides the rest.

But to go back. I said t