RICHMOND, October 3, 1840.

How funny it seems here!  Everything is so different from home!  I foresee that I shan’t live nearly a year under these new influences without changing my old self into something else.  Heaven forbid that I should grow old because people treat me as if I were grown up!  I hate old young folks.  Well! whoever should see me and my scholars would be at a loss to know wherein consists the difference between them and me.  I am only a little girl after all, and yet folks do treat me as if I were as old and as wise as Methusaleh.  And Mr. Persico says, “Oui, Madame.”  Oh! oh! oh!  It makes me feel so ashamed when these tall girls, these damsels whose hearts are developed as mine won’t be these half dozen years (to say nothing of their minds), ask me if they may go to bed, if they may walk, if they may go to Mr. So-and-so’s, and Miss Such-a-one’s to buy—­a stick of candy for aught I know.  Oh, oh, oh!  I shall have to take airs upon myself.  I shall have to leave off little words and use big ones.  I shall have to leave off sitting curled up on my feet, turkey-fashion.  I shall have to make wise speeches (But a word in your ear, Miss—­I won’t).

Oct. 27th—­This Richmond is a queer sort of a place and I should be as miserable in it as a fish out of water, only there is sunshine enough in my heart to make any old hole bright.  In the first place, this dowdy chamber is in one view a perfect den—­no carpet, whitewashed walls, loose windows that have the shaking palsy, fire-red hearth, blue paint instead of white, or rather a suspicion that there was once some blue paint here.  But what do I care?  I’m as merry as a grig from morning till night.  The little witches down-stairs love me dearly, everybody is kind, and—­and—­and—­when everybody is locked out and I am locked into this same room, this low attic, there’s not a king on the earth so rich, so happy as I!  Here is my little pet desk, here are my books, my papers.  I can write and read and study and moralise, I don’t pretend to say think—­and then besides, every morning and every night, within these four walls, heaven itself refuses not to enter in and dwell—­and I may grow better and better and happier and happier in blessedness with which nothing may intermeddle.

Mr. Persico is a man by himself, and quite interesting to me in one way, that is, in giving me something to puzzle out.  I like him for his exquisite taste in the picture line and for having adorned his rooms with such fine ones—­at least they’re fine to my inexperienced eye; for when I’m in the mood, I can go and sit and dream as it seemeth me good over them, and as I dream, won’t good thoughts come into my heart?  As to Mrs. P., I hereby return my thanks to Nature for making her so beautiful.  She has a face and figure to fall in love with.  K. has also a fine face and a delicate little figure.  Miss ——­ I shall avoid as far as I can do so.  I do not think her