If The Generous Ideas Of

He Had Not Breathed A Word Of Love, Or Dropped One Hint Of Tenderness Or Affection, And Yet I Had Been Supremely Happy. To Be Near Him, To Hear Him Talk As He Did Talk, And To Feel That He Thought Me Worthy To Be So Spoken To - Capable Of Understanding And Duly Appreciating Such Discourse - Was Enough.

A Light Wind Swept Over The Corn, And All Nature Laughed In The Sunshine.

You Need Not Fear Me, For I Not Only Should Think It Wrong To Marry A Man That Was Deficient In Sense Or In Principle, But I Should Never Be Tempted To Do It; For I Could Not Like Him, If He Were Ever So Handsome, And Ever So Charming, In Other Respects; I Should Hate Him—despise Him—pity Him—anything But Love Him. My Affections Not Only Ought To Be Founded On Approbation, But They Will And Must Be So: For, Without Approving, I Cannot Love. It Is Needless To Say, I Ought To Be Able To Respect And Honour The Man I Marry, As Well As Love Him, For I Cannot Love Him Without.

Preserve Me From Such Cordiality! It Is Like Handling Briar-roses And May-blossoms - Bright Enough To The Eye, And Outwardly Soft To The Touch, But You Know There Are Thorns Beneath, And Every Now And Then You Feel Them Too; And Perhaps Resent The Injury By Crushing Them In Till You Have Destroyed Their Power, Though Somewhat To The Detriment Of Your Own Fingers.

Life And Hope Must Cease Together.