Eleanor Went To Her Room "where She

There Is No Charm Equal To Tenderness Of Heart.

But To Appear Happy When I Am So Miserable — Oh! Who Can Require It?

There Is A Stubbornness About Me That Never Can Bear To Be Frightened At The Will Of Others. My Courage Always Rises At Every Attempt To Intimidate Me.

Her Pleasure In The Walk Must Arise From The Exercise And The Day, From The View Of The Last Smiles Of The Year Upon The Tawny Leaves And Withered Hedges, And From Repeating To Herself Some Few Of The Thousand Poetical Descriptions Extant Of Autumn-that Season Of Peculiar And Inexhaustible Influence On The Mind Of Taste And Tenderness-that Season Which Has Drawn From Every Poet Worthy Of Being Read Some Attempt At Description, Or Some Lines Of Feeling.

I Know So Many Who Have Married In The Full Expectation And Confidence Of Some One Particular Advantage In The Connection, Or Accomplishment, Or Good Quality In The Person, Who Have Found Themselves Entirely Deceived, And Been Obliged To Put Up With Exactly The Reverse. What Is This But A Take In?