To Wish Was To Hope, And To

Fine Dancing, I Believe, Like Virtue, Must Be Its Own Reward.

Sir Walter Elliot, Of Kellynch-hall, In Somersetshire, Was A Man Who, For His Own Amusement, Never Took Up Any Book But The Barontage; There He Found Occupation For An Idle Hour, And Consolation In A Distressed One; . . .

She Was Oppressed, She Was Overcome By Her Own Felicity; And Happily Disposed As Is The Human Mind To Be Easily Familiarized With Any Change For The Better, It Required Several Hours To Give Sedateness To Her Spirits, Or Any Degree Of Tranquillity To Her Heart.

There Is Safety In Reserve, But No Attraction. One Cannot Love A Reserved Person.

I Cannot Think Well Of A Man Who Sports With Any Woman's Feelings; And There May Often Be A Great Deal More Suffered Than A Stander-by Can Judge Of.