January 1876

That it is true, Master, is the Power of all you write.

Could it cease to be Romance, it would be Revelation, which is the Seed-of Romance-

I had read "Childhood," with compunction that thought so fair- fall on foreign eyes-

I had also read fervent notices of itself and of you. There is nothing sweeter than Honor, but Love, which is it's sacred price.

I hope most you are happy, and that none closest to you, have received sorrow-

Could "Liquid Hills" be steep?

The last Books that my Father brought me I have felt unwilling to open, and had reserved them for you, because he had twice seen you. They are Theodore Parker, by Frothingham, and George Eliot's Poems. If you have them, please tell me- If not, you will not forbid mine?

Mr. Bowles lent me flowers twice, for my Father's Grave.

To his simplicity
To die-was little Fate-
If Duty live-contented
But her Confederate-