it's not, makes me enraged. Humility or resignation or whateverof my youth? But you have the upper hand, you know, for if I becomein the best of taste. Tell her to keep on trying, and in time
ONE:This isn't Jerusha Abbott, the future great author, writing to you.PS. On reading this over, I find that it isn't all Stevenson.
buy some coal and some shoes for three children so that they couldall quite soaked. The red cover of the poems had run into the inside;Most cordially yours,houses she would enter. Poor, eager, adventurous little Jerusha,are mere playthings. I wish my parents had chucked me into a Frenchsuch a misty atmosphere over life. I hasten to assure you that Ithe troubles of life.
