and make my dear family more comfortable. I feel weak-minded when I
think of all they need and the little I can do.

Now about you: Keep the money you have earned by so many tears and
sacrifices, and clothe yourself; for it makes me mad to know that my
good little lass is going round in shabby things, and being looked down
upon by people who are not worthy to touch her patched shoes or the hem
of her ragged old gowns. Make yourself tidy, and if any is left over
send it to mother; for there are always many things needed at home,
though they won't tell us. I only wish I, too, by any amount of
weeping and homesickness could earn as much. But my mite won't come
amiss; and if tears can add to its value, I've shed my quart--first,
over the book not coming out; for that was a sad blow, and I waited so
long it was dreadful when my castle in the air came tumbling about my
ears. Pride made me laugh in public; but I wailed in private, and no
one knew it. The folks at home think I rather enjoyed it, for I wrote
a jolly letter. But my visit was spoiled; and now I'm digging away for
dear life, that I may not have come entirely in vain. I didn't mean to
groan about it; but my lass and I must tell some one our trials, and so
it becomes easy to confide in one another. I never let mother know how
unhappy you were in S. till Uncle wrote.

My doings are not much this week. I sent a little tale to the Gazette,
and Clapp asked H. W. if five dollars would be enough. Cousin H. said
yes, and gave it to me, with kind words and a nice parcel of paper,
saying in his funny way, "Now, Lu, the door is open, go in and win."
So I shall try to do it. Then cousin L. W. said Mr. B. had got my
play, and told her that if Mrs. B. liked it as well, it must be clever,
and if it didn't cost too much, he would bring it out by and by. Say
nothing about it yet. Dr. W. tells me Mr. F. is very sick; so the
farce cannot be acted yet. But the Doctor is set on its coming out,
and we have fun about it. H. W. takes me often to the theatre when L.
is done with me. I read to her all the P. M. often, as she is poorly,
and in that way I pay my debt to them.

I'm writing another story for Clapp. I want more fives, and mean to
have them, too.

Uncle wrote that you were Dr. W.'s pet teacher, and every one loved you
dearly. But if you are not well, don't stay. Come home, and be
cuddled by your old

Lu.

_Pinckney Street, Boston_, January 1, 1855.--T