You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight and a half years ago. Dare not say that a man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.

What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering?

You have qualities which I had not before supposed to exist in such a degree in any human creature. You have some touches of the angel in you.

If I am wrong, I am doing what I believe to the right.

Yet there it was not love. It was a little fever of admiration; but it might, probably must, end in love with some

I am sure," cried Catherine, "I did not mean to say anything wrong; but it is a nice book, and why should not I call it so?" "Very true," said Henry, "and this is a very nice day, and we are taking a very nice walk, and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh! It is a very nice word indeed! It does for everything. Originally perhaps it was applied only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, or refinement—people were nice in their dress, in their sentiments, or their choice. But now every commendation on every subject is comprised in that one word.

And to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.