When A Lady Condescends To Apologise, There

Our Children, Edward, Agnes, And Little Mary, Promise Well; Their Education, For The Time Being, Is Chiefly Committed To Me; And They Shall Want No Good Thing That A Mother's Care Can Give. Our Modest Income Is Amply Sufficient For Our Requirements; And By Practising The Economy We Learnt In Harder Times, And Never Attempting To Imitate Our Richer Neighbours, We Manage Not Only To Enjoy Comfort And Contentment Ourselves, But To Have Every Year Something To Lay By For Our Children, And Something To Give To Those Who Need It. And Now I Think I Have Said Sufficient.

Because I Imagine There Must Be Only A Very, Very Few Men In The World, That I Should Like To Marry; And Of Those Few, It Is Ten To One I May Never Be Acquainted With One; Or If I Should, It Is Twenty To One He May Not Happen To Be Single, Or To Take A Fancy To Me.

You Might As Well Sell Yourself To Slavery At Once, As Marry Man You Dislike.

I Began This Book With The Intention Of Concealing Nothing, That Those Who Liked Might Have The Benefit Of Perusing A Fellow Creature's Heart: But We Have Some Thoughts That All The Angels In Heaven Are Welcome To Behold -- But Not Our Brother-men -- Not Even The Best And Kindest Amongst Them.

To Represent A Bad Thing In Its Least Offensive Light Is, Doubtless, The Most Agreeable Course For A Writer Of Fiction To Pursue; But Is It The Most Honest, Or The Safest? Is It Better To Reveal The Snares And Pitfalls Of Like To The Young And Thoughtless Traveller, Or To Cover Them With Branches And Flowers? Oh, Reader! If There Were Less Of This Delicate Concealment Of Facts--this Whispering "peace, Peace," When There Is No Peace, There Would Be Less Of Sin And Misery To The Young Of Both Sexes Who Are Left To Wring Their Bitter Knowledge From Experience.