[Boston—Monday, 3 June 1867]
Monday. Weather summer like. Lissie gives up my portrait; blotches over the face which she had made very sweet & leaves it. I feel so grieved for her in these failures and fear she will never accomplish much in art. She can not only discern the best in execution but sometimes in inspired moments can achieve admirable things, but she is inert (like most of us only it amounts to disease with her) and she is apt to fail before reaching goal.
