Sir ,—I cannot rest till I have answered your letter, even though by addressing you a second time I should appear a little intrusive, but I must thank you for the kind and wise advice you have condescended to give me. I had not ventured to hope for such a reply; so considerate in its tone, so noble in its spirit. I must suppress what I feel, or you will think me foolishly enthusiastic.
At the first perusal of your letter I felt only shame and regret that I had ever ventured to trouble you with my erude rhapsody; I felt a painful heat rise to my face when I thought of the quires of paper I had covered with what once gave me so much delight, but which now was only a sourec of confusion; but after I had thought a little, and read it again and again, the prospect seemed to clear. You do not forbid me to write ;you do not say that what I write is utterly destitute of merit. You only warn me against the folly of neglecting real duties for the sake of imaginative pleasures; of w