Child as I was, I thought that tear more holy and precious than the dew of heaven.

Flowers nurtured by such moisture must be sweet.
"I will never write any more," I exclaimed, with desperate resolution.
"I will never more expose myself to ridicule and contempt." "Write as you have hitherto done, for my gratification and your own.
Your simple strains have beguiled my lonely hours.

But had I known your purpose, I would have warned you of the consequences.

The child who attempts to soar above its companions is sure to be dragged down by the hand of envy.

Your teacher saw in your effusion an unpardonable effort to rise above himself,--to diverge from the beaten track.