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was urged to publish.
In such cases I was sometimes put forward as a defense; and the following letter was the fruit of some such occasion:
Dear friend,--Thank you for the advice.
I shall implicitly follow it.
The one who asked me for the lines I had never seen.
He spoke of “a charity.”
I refused, but did not inquire.
He again earnestly urged, on the ground that in that way I might “aid unfortunate children.”
The name of “child” was a snare to me, and I hesitated, choosing my most rudimentary, and without criterion.
I inquired of you. You can scarcely estimate the opinion to one utterly guideless.
Again thank you.
Your scholar.
Again came this, on a similar theme:
Dear friend,--Are you willing to tell me what is right?
Mrs. Jackson, of
Colorado [ “H. H.,” her early schoolmate], was with me a few moments this week, and wished me to write for this.
[A circular of the “No name series” was inclosed.] I told her I was unwilling, and she asked me why?
I said I was incapable, and she seemed not to believe me and asked me not to decide for a few days.
Meantime, she would write me. She was so sweetly noble, I would regret to estrange her, and if you would be willing to give me a note saying you disapproved it, and thought me unfit, she would believe you. I am