the name he bears. His poetical effusions are equally creditable to his
head and his heart, displaying the highest order of genius and powers
of imagination and fancy hardly second to any writer of the age. He is
destined to make a great sensation in the world of letters."

Mrs. Hopkins is the same good soul she always was. She is very proud
of her son, as is natural, and keeps a copy of everything he writes. I
believe she cries over them every time she reads them. You don't know
how I take to little Sossy and Minthy, those two twins I have written to
you about before. Poor little creatures,--what a cruel thing it was in
their father and mother not to take care of them! What do you think? Old
bachelor Gridley lets them come up into his room, and builds forts and
castles for them with his big books! "The world's coming to an end,"
Mrs. Hopkins said the first time he did so. He looks so savage with
that scowl of his, and talks so gruff when he is scolding at things in
general, that nobody would have believed he would have let such little
things come anywhere near him. But he seems to be growing kind to all of
us and everybody. I saw him talking to the Fire-hang-bird the other day.
You know who the Fire-hang-bird is, don't you? Myrtle Hazard her name
is. I wish you could see her. I don't know as I do, though. You would
want to make a statue of her, or a painting, I know. She is so handsome
that all the young men stand round to see her come out of meeting. Some
say that Lawyer Bradshaw is after her; but my! he is ten years older
than she is. She is nothing but a girl, though she looks as if she was
eighteen. She lives up at a place called The Poplars, with an old woman
that is her aunt or something, and nobody seems to be much acquainted
with her except Olive Eveleth, who is the minister's daughter at Saint
Bartholomew's Church. She never has beauxs round her, as some young
girls do--they say that she is not happy with her aunt and another
woman that stays with her, and that is the reason she keeps so much to
herself. The minister came to see me the other day,--Mr. Stoker his name
is. I was all alone, and it frightened me, for he looks, oh, so solemn
on Sundays! But he called me "My dear," and did n't say anything horrid,
you know, about my being such a dreadful, dreadful sinner, as I have
heard of his saying to some people,--but he looked very kindly at me,
and took my hand, and laid his hand on my shoulder like a brother, a