know if I would object to give them certain information of a personal nature?
None in the world, my dear Oreades; but, then, if I tell you here, there is that sly step-dame — the public — who will hear every word.
What else can I say except to express gratification at your note?
"J." sends me an elegant smoking-cap — so fine indeed that it makes me quite ashamed of my poor little, dingy pipe, with its wooden bowl.
I wish I knew "J.'s" address, that I might express my thanks.
From "Lillian Clifford" I have a little book of pins and needles.
They will prove very useful to me, for my buttons are the most obstinate in existence; they will persist in coming off at the most unwarranted time.
"C.," I publish it at your desire.
Here it is: All day long beside the window, Gazing through the mist and rain, Up and down the street she watches-- Watches closely — but in vain; And with half a sigh she murmurs, "Will he never come again?" All day long beside the window,