Is Not Poetry The Food Of Love?

Faultless In Spite Of All Her Faults.

Children Of The Same Family, The Same Blood, With The Same First Associations And Habits, Have Some Means Of Enjoyment In Their Power, Which No Subsequent Connections Can Supply.

The Little Bit (two Inches Wide) Of Ivory On Which I Work With So Fine A Brush As Produces Little Effect After Much Labour.

Is There Not Something Wanted, Miss Price, In Our Language - A Something Between Compliments And - And Love - To Suit The Sort Of Friendly Acquaintance We Have Had Together?

They Are Much To Be Pitied Who Have Not Been Given A Taste For Nature Early In Life.