(...)and so I am tempted to think that to be despised by her sex is a very great compliment to a woman.

(...)and as soon as the door was shut, she went fluttering to Lieutenant George Osborne's heart as if it was the only natural home for her to nestle in. Oh, thou poor panting little soul! The very finest tree in the whole forest, with the straightest stem and the strongest arms, and the thickest foliage, wherein you choose to build and coo, may be marked, for what you know, and may be down with a crash ere long. What an old, old simile that is, between man and timber.

Some cynical Frenchman has said that there are two parties to a love transaction: the one who loves, and the other who condescends to be so treated. Perhaps the love is ocasionally on the man's side; perhaps on the lady's.

What is the secret mesmerism which friendship possesses, and under the operation of which a person ordinarily sluggish, or cold, or timid, becomes wise, active and resolute in anoter's behalf? As Alexis, after a few passes from Dr Ellioston, despises pain, reads with the back of his head, sees miles off, looks into next week, and perforrms other wonders, of which, in his own private normal condition, he is quite incapable; so you see, in the affairs of the world and under the magnetism of friendship, the modest man becames bold, the shy confident, the lazy active, or the impetuous prudent and paceful. What is it, on the oder hand, that makes the lawyer eschew his own cause, and call his learned brother as an adviser? And what causes the doctor, when ailing, to send for his rival, and not sit down and examine his own tongue in the chimeny-glass, or write his own prescription at his study table? I throw out these queries for intlligent readers to answer, who know, at once, how credulous we are and how sceptical, how soft and how obstinate, how firm for others and how diffident about ourselves.

And in determining to make everybody else happy, she found herself so.

If all the drops in it were dried up, what would became of the sea?

Women only know how to wound so. There is a poison on the tips of their litlle sharps, which stings a thousand times more than a man's blunter weapon.

Rawdon bought the boy plenty of picture-books, and crammed his nursery with toys. Its walls were covered with pictures pasted up by the father's own hand, and purchased by him with ready money. When he was off duty with Mrs Rawdon in the Park, he would sit up here, passing hours with the boy; who rode on his chest, who pulled his great mustachios as if they were driving-reins, and spent days with him in indefatigable gambols. The room was a low one, and once, when the child was not five years old, his father, who was tossing him wildly up in his arms, hit the poor little chap's skull so violently against the ceiling that he almost dropped the child, so terrified was he at the disaster.

Rawdon minor had made up his face for a tremendous howl - the severity of the blow indeed authorized that indulgence; but just as he was going to begin, the father interposed.

'For God's sake, Rawdy, don't wake mamma', he cried. And the child, looking in a very hard and piteous way at his father, bit his lips, clenched his hands, and didn'tcry a bit. Rawdon told that story at the clubs, at the mess, at everybody in town. 'By Gad, sir,' he explained to the public in general, 'what a trump he is! I half sent his head through the ceiling, by Gad, and he wouldn't cry for fear of disturbing his mother.'