If The Generous Ideas Of Youth Are

He Is Very Fond Of Me, Almost Too Fond. I Could Do With Less Caressing And More Rationality. I Should Like To Be Less Of A Pet And More Of A Friend, If I Might Choose; But I Won't Complain Of That: I Am Only Afraid His Affection Loses In Depth Where It Gains In Ardour. I Sometimes Liken It To A Fire Of Dry Twigs And Branches Compared With One Of Solid Coal, Very Bright And Hot; But If It Should Burn Itself Out And Leave Nothing But Ashes Behind.

To Represent A Bad Thing In Its Least Offensive Light Is, Doubtless, The Most Agreeable Course For A Writer Of Fiction To Pursue; But Is It The Most Honest, Or The Safest? Is It Better To Reveal The Snares And Pitfalls Of Like To The Young And Thoughtless Traveller, Or To Cover Them With Branches And Flowers? Oh, Reader! If There Were Less Of This Delicate Concealment Of Facts--this Whispering "peace, Peace," When There Is No Peace, There Would Be Less Of Sin And Misery To The Young Of Both Sexes Who Are Left To Wring Their Bitter Knowledge From Experience.

Beauty Is That Quality Which, Next To Money, Is Generally The Most Attractive To The Worst Kinds Of Men; And, Therefore, It Is Likely To Entail A Great Deal Of Trouble On The Possessor.

Forgetfulness Is Not To Be Purchased With A Wish; And I Cannot Bestow My Esteem On All Who Desire It, Unless They Deserve It Too.

You May Think It All Very Fine, Mr. Huntingdon, To Amuse Yourself With Rousing My Jealousy; But Take Care You Don't Rouse My Hate Instead. And When You Have Once Extinguished My Love, You Will Find It No Easy Matter To Kindle It Again.