I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding— certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of other so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.

If the heroine of one novel be not patronized by the heroine of another, from whom can she expect protection and regard?

I am sorry to tell you that I am getting very extravagant and spending all my money: and what is worse for you, I have been spending yours too.

What wild imaginations one forms where dear self is concerned! How sure to be mistaken!

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

Marry me. Marry me, my wonderful, darling friend.

Time will generally lessen the interest of every attachment not within the daily circle.