ing may intermeddle.

Mr. Persico is a man by himself, and quite interesting to me in one
way, that is, in giving me something to puzzle out. I like him for his
exquisite taste in the picture line and for having adorned his rooms
with such fine ones--at least they're fine to my inexperienced eye; for
when I'm in the mood, I can go and sit and dream as it seemeth me good
over them, and as I dream, won't good thoughts come into my heart? As
to Mrs. P., I hereby return my thanks to Nature for making her so
beautiful. She has a face and figure to fall in love with. K. has also a
fine face and a delicate little figure. Miss ---- I shall avoid as far
as I can do so. I do not think her opinions and feelings would do me
any good. She has a fine mind and likes to cultivate it, and for that I
respect her, but she has nothing natural and girlish in her, and I am
persuaded, never had. She hates little children; says she hates to hear
them laugh, thinks them little fools. Why, how odd all this is to me!
I could as soon hate the angels in heaven and hate to hear them sing.
That, to be sure, is my way, and the other way is hers--but somehow it
doesn't seem good-hearted to be so very, very superior to children as to
shun the little loving beautiful creatures. I don't believe I ever shall
grow up! But, Miss ----, I don't want to do you injustice, and I'm much
obliged to you for all the flattering things you've said about me, and
if you like my eyes and think there is congeniality of feeling between
us, why, I thank you. But oh, don't teach me that the wisdom of the
world consisteth in forswearing the simple beauties with which life is
full. Don't make me fear my own happy girlhood by talking to me about
love--oh, don't!

_Dec. 1._--I wonder if all the girls in the world are just alike? Seems
to me they might be so sweet and lovable if they'd leave off chattering
forever and ever about lovers.... If mothers would keep their little
unfledged birds under their own wings, wouldn't they make better mother-
birds? Now some girls down-stairs, who ought to be thinking about all
the beautiful things in life but just lovers, are reading novels,
love-stories and poetry, till they can't care for anything else.... Now,
Lizzy Payson, where's the use of fretting so? Go right to work reading
Leighton and you'll forget that all the world isn't as wise as you think
you are, you little vain thing, you! Alas and alas, but this is such a
nice world, and th