long chance that the letter would blow out to sea or the
Produce Exchange tower topple over.

"'Haste, my sweetheart,'" continued Nellie, "'is my excuse--haste
which wholly disregards the trifling detail; but I see my error now
and enclose a yard of blue ribbon to be converted by your deft hands
into a tight bow-knot where the unpoetic cotton now binds the clipped
token of my love. I pray there may be enough left to gather a
generous lock of the golden tresses for which I yearn. You will not
withhold them, will you, Margaret? What sweet thoughts proceed from
memory's strongholds:

"'Can I forget--canst thou forget,
When playing with thy golden hair,
How quickly thy fluttering heart did move?
Oh, by my soul, I see thee yet,
With eyes so languid, breast so fair,
And lips, though silent, breathing love.

"'When thus reclining on my breast,
Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet,
As half reproached, yet raised desire,
And still we near and nearer prest,
And still our glowing lips would meet,
As if in kisses to expire.

"'And then those pensive eyes would close,
And bid their lids each other seek,
Veiling the azure orbs below,
While their long lashes' darken'd gloss
Seemed stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek,
Like raven's plumage smoothed on snow.'

"'While it may be true that absence makes the heart grow fonder,
there are limitations, believe me, to man's endurance. Three months
will find me worn to a scant shadow, a mere tissue, so sharp that the
dial at noonday cannot point with finer finger the passage of the sun
under the meridian wire. Only the first month is now waning, and I
dare not look a weighing machine in the face, for fear I might fall
in the slot. I am not facetious, believe me, Margaret.

"'Fear underlies my woe. Annoying images, at first vague, gather
strength of outline and haunt me like evil prophecies. Of course,
there is naught but fear to account for these distressing delusions,
but is it not as real when it wounds as the dagger's point? How shall
we banish the terrors that arise in lonely hours? In writing to you
these thoughts as they flow from the deep reservoirs of my soul,
through the conduit of pen, in inky tracings on this fair page, my
sweetest hours are spent. Here is an outlet that redu