SoⒶemendation you have “come out” my sweet little sister! I learned it with a pang, through an exquisite letter from our mutual Mother,1explanatory note—may whose peace increase!—as those devout Orientals would say.2explanatory note IⒶemendation did not want you to “come out,” ever. I wanted you to remain always just as you were when I saw you last, the dearest bud of maidenhood in all the land. I feel about it as we feel about our youngest child, “the Bay;” 3explanatory note every time she discontinues a mis-pronunciationⒶemendation, & enters upon the correct form of pronouncing that word, never to retreat from it again, & never again to charm our ears with the music that was in the old lame sound of it, we feel that something that was precious has gone from us to return no more; a subtle, elusive, but nevertheless real sense of loss—& when we analyze it we find that the meaning of it is, that we are losing our baby—she is becoming a little girl, to blend with the vast & arid wastes of unindividualized little-girlhood & cease to be a centre of wondering admiration, a rich unfailing source of daily & hourly surprises. Now you see, my Mollie is lost to me, my darling old pet & playfellow is gone, my little dainty maid has passed from under my caressing hands, & in her place they have put that stately & reserve-compelling creation, a Woman!

Well, these things must be, & the injured have to submit. When the baby is lost & we become reconciled to the loss, we begin to hunt for compensations in the little girl whom we have gained—and, if we do our whole duty & tend and train that little girl wisely & well, we find them. We make up our loss; & not only that, but add a profit.

Very well, then, let me take heart of courage; let me take comfort. The little maid is lost, but shan’t I make it up in the Woman gained? Shan’t I make it up & profit besides? Knowing that Mother of ours so well, I am able to believe so.

Wherefore, Young Woman, write & tell me what you are about in your dizzy new elevation; & what you propose to do, to make your new rank out-value the old. It is a big contract; there is a mighty responsibility laid upon you in this proposed achievement, for mind you you were a very precious chattel to some of us before.

Still, there isn’t anything to get frightened at or discouraged about. The main thing is, to be as sweet, as a woman, as you were as a maiden; & as good & true, as honest & sincere, as loving, as pure, as genuine, as earnest, as untrivial, as sweetly graced with dignity, & as free from every taint or suggestion of shams, affectations or pretenses, in your new estate as you were in the old. That is the main thing, & is easy, because it is an edifice built out of the solid rock of your nature, & rendered permanent by the wise shaping & just proportioning it received from the architect your mother. It is a good, lasting building—no fear about that. There is nothing to do, now, but to finish the furnishing & put on the fresco & the other decorations.

There are different ways of doing that. OneⒶemendation can use colors that “swear at each other”—or colors that don’t. One can daub on a fresco that will make a spectator cry—or a fresco that will make him stand & worship. One can cover the walls with chromos that will make a visitor want to go home—or with originals which will make him stay till you wish he would go home. In a word, one may make the house a gaudy & unrestful Palace of Sham, or he can make it a Home—a refuge, a place where the eye is satisfied, the intellect stimulated, the spirit broadened, the soul surcharged with peace.

There—it isn’t a sermon—I wouldn’t offend you with one. It is only a suggestion of what I think you are going to do, & would do without any suggestion—that is, furnish & decorate yourself upon the best models instead of the bad ones.

I have finished my letter, now, & so will only add a little post-script a trifle longer than the letter itself. No, upon second thought I won’t, since I am to go out to dinner and must begin to dress. I’ll only say this. There is an old book by Thomas Fuller—I have forgotten its name, but I think Charles Lamb devotes a chapter to it & therefore has doubtless mentioned its name.4explanatory note Well, now, see if you can find that book in the Cleveland library. Just read it—or part of it—not for the pleasure of reading it but for the pleasure of searching out what I call “pemmican sentences.” (Pemmican, you know, is great quantities of food compressed into a very small compass—it is the essential virtue of the meat with all useless matter discarded.) Old Fuller, who wrote in Charles I’s time,5explanatory note boils an elaborate thought down & compresses it into a single crisp & meaty sentence. It is a wonderful faculty. When I had the book I purposed searching out & jotting down a lot of these pemmican sentences, partly for the teaching it would be toward learning the art of compressing (which is one of the very greatest of the arts of speech, either written or oral) but I neglected it, of course. Now you do it, & send me the sentences you select. I remember that to express pompous & empty show, old Fuller uses a figure something like this: “They that are many stories high, are usually found to be but indifferently furnished in the cockloft.”6explanatory note He uses homely similes, mostly, but his meaning flashes out from them as though a drummond light had been suddenly cast upon the page.7explanatory note Searching out his compact sentences is vast entertainment for a vacant hour, as I think you will discover. Suppose you try it, Mollie dear.

Do you read? What are you reading? What is your criticism?

We both, & all, send love to you, little woman, & lovingly I put you into the empty chamber in my heart where my Mollie was that is gone.

I am going to write to our good old Mother very soon, & beg & lie, & explain, & make it all up with her, and get her gentle forgiveness, & then go & do some more.

Benedictions & blessings upon all the household at Fair Banks! Amen.8explanatory note