cation, but the following extracts seem
fairly entitled to a place here, as they bring out several features
of her character with sunlike clearness, and so will help to a better
understanding of the ensuing narrative:

RICHMOND, _October 3, 1840._

How funny it seems here! Everything is so different from home! I foresee
that I shan't live nearly a year under these new influences without
changing my old self into something else. Heaven forbid that I should
grow old because people treat me as if I were grown up! I hate old young
folks. Well! whoever should see me and my scholars would be at a loss to
know wherein consists the difference between them and me. I am only a
little girl after all, and yet folks do treat me as if I were as old and
as wise as Methusaleh. And Mr. Persico says, "Oui, Madame." Oh! oh! oh!
It makes me feel so ashamed when these tall girls, these damsels whose
hearts are developed as mine won't be these half dozen years (to say
nothing of their minds), ask me if they may go to bed, if they may walk,
if they may go to Mr. So-and-so's, and Miss Such-a-one's to buy--a stick
of candy for aught I know. Oh, oh, oh! I shall have to take airs upon
myself. I shall have to leave off little words and use big ones. I shall
have to leave off sitting curled up on my feet, turkey-fashion. I shall
have to make wise speeches (But a word in your ear, Miss--I _won't_).

_Oct. 27th_--This Richmond is a queer sort of a place and I should be as
miserable in it as a fish out of water, only there is sunshine enough
in my heart to make any old hole bright. In the first place, this dowdy
chamber is in one view a perfect den--no carpet, whitewashed walls,
loose windows that have the shaking palsy, fire-red hearth, blue paint
instead of white, or rather a suspicion that there was once some blue
paint here. But what do I care? I'm as merry as a grig from morning till
night. The little witches down-stairs love me dearly, everybody is kind,
and--and--and--when everybody is locked out and I am locked into this
same room, this low attic, there's not a king on the earth so rich, so
happy as I! Here is my little pet desk, here are my books, my papers.
I can write and read and study and moralise, I don't pretend to say
_think_--and then besides, every morning and every night, within these
four walls, heaven itself refuses not to enter in and dwell--and I may
grow better and better and happier and happier in blessedness with which
noth