And We Mean To Treat You All,'

I Can Always Live By My Pen.

…she Felt Depressed Beyond Any Thing She Had Ever Known Before.

Thus Much Indeed He Was Obliged To Acknowledge - That He Had Been Constant Unconsciously, Nay Unintentionally; That He Had Meant To Forget Her, And Believed It To Be Done. He Had Imagined Himself Indifferent, When He Had Only Been Angry; And He Had Been Unjust To Her Merits, Because He Had Been A Sufferer From Them.

Not Keep A Journal! How Are Your Absent Cousins To Understand The Tenor Of Your Life In Bath Without One? How Are The Civilities And Compliments Of Every Day To Be Related As They Ought To Be, Unless Noted Down Every Evening In A Journal? How Are Your Various Dresses To Be Remembered, And The Particular State Of Your Complexion, And Curl Of Your Hair To Be Described In All Their Diversities, Without Having Constant Recourse To A Journal?

Oh! Write, Write. Finish It At Once. Let There Be An End Of This Suspense. Fix, Commit, Condemn Yourself.