an especial
interest in that Miss Berwick, and have over and over again questioned
Wills about her. I suppose he has gone on gradually building up an
imaginary structure of life and adventure for her, but he has given me
the strangest information! Only yesterday week, when we were "making up"
"The Poor Travellers," as I sat meditatively poking the office fire, I
said to him, "Wills, have you got that Miss Berwick's proof back, of the
little sailor's song?" "No," he said. "Well, but why not?" I asked him.
"Why, you know," he answered, "as I have often told you before, she
don't live at the place to which her letters are addressed, and so
there's always difficulty and delay in communicating with her." "Do you
know what age she is?" I said. Here he looked unfathomably profound, and
returned, "Rather advanced in life." "You said she was a governess,
didn't you?" said I; to which he replied in the most emphatic and
positive manner, "A governess."

He then came and stood in the corner of the hearth, with his back to the
fire, and delivered himself like an oracle concerning you. He told me
that early in life (conveying to me the impression of about a quarter of
a century ago) you had had your feelings desperately wounded by some
cause, real or imaginary--"It does not matter which," said I, with the
greatest sagacity--and that you had then taken to writing verses. That
you were of an unhappy temperament, but keenly sensitive to
encouragement. That you wrote after the educational duties of the day
were discharged. That you sometimes thought of never writing any more.
That you had been away for some time "with your pupils." That your
letters were of a mild and melancholy character, and that you did not
seem to care as much as might be expected about money. All this time I
sat poking the fire, with a wisdom upon me absolutely crushing; and
finally I begged him to assure the lady that she might trust me with her
real address, and that it would be better to have it now, as I hoped our
further communications, etc. etc. etc. You must have felt enormously
wicked last Tuesday, when I, such a babe in the wood, was unconsciously
prattling to you. But you have given me so much pleasure, and have made
me shed so many tears, that I can only think of you now in association
with the sentiment and grace of your verses.

So pray accept the blessing and forgiveness of Richard Watts, though I
am afraid you come under both his conditions of exclu