鈥楤ut I was wrong this time,鈥?he said. 鈥業 gave you a lot of trouble in consequence.鈥? Your Letter has so ruffled my whole Interior, that I know not how to write common Sense: Therefore, if my Answer be unintelligible, blame me not, for I am utterly lost in an Abyss of Confusion: The Thoughts of breaking my holy Resolutions on one Hand, and the Sufferings which the keeping them, makes us both undergo, on the other, distracts me. My dear Chevalier! change your Reproaches into Pity: I will endeavour to repair my Faults: Faults! did I say? Ah me! it is a Crime, to call this my Religious Enterprize a Fault! My Thoughts, Words, Writings, on this Occasion, are Faults! The very Corresponding with the young Lady you placed here, is a Fault! Yet, a Fault so sweet, so delicious, that I cannot refrain, because she recounts a thousand tender Things of you; repeats your Sighs and Grief in such soft and melting Words and Accents, as would soften the most obdurate Heart. 彩票官网 鈥榊es, he knows,鈥?he said. 鈥業 gave notice to him. And why do you wish I hadn鈥檛 done it? I declare I鈥檓 getting like Mr Silverdale. All the ladies are concerning themselves with me. There鈥檚 your mother saying I鈥檝e done right, and you and Miss Propert saying I鈥檝e done wrong. There鈥檚 no pleasing you all.鈥? Which to avoid, some fling themselves away; 鈥業 shall not spare him nor you.鈥? Thackeray,....... 1879 It is nearly twenty years since I proposed to myself to write a history of English prose fiction. I shall never do it now, but the subject is so good a one that I recommend it heartily to some man of letters, who shall at the same time be indefatigable and light-handed. I acknowledge that I broke down in the task, because I could not endure the labour in addition to the other labours of my life. Though the book might be charming, the work was very much the reverse. It came to have a terrible aspect to me, as did that proposition that I should sit out all the May meetings of a season. According to my plan of such a history it would be necessary to read an infinity of novels, and not only to read them, but so to read them as to point out the excellences of those which are most excellent, and to explain the defects of those which, though defective, had still reached sufficient reputation to make them worthy of notice. I did read many after this fashion 鈥?and here and there I have the criticisms which I wrote. In regard to many, they were written on some blank page within the book; I have not, however, even a list of the books so criticised. I think that the Arcadia was the first, and Ivanhoe the last. My plan, as I settled it at last, had been to begin with Robinson Crusoe, which is the earliest really popular novel which we have in our language, and to continue the review so as to include the works of all English novelists of reputation, except those who might still be living when my task should be completed. But when Dickens and Bulwer died, my spirit flagged, and that which I had already found to be very difficult had become almost impossible to me at my then period of life. Two from the Rhine, and one from Nance: 鈥楤ut stern as she was by nature, her intense love鈥攖he love of a strong nature鈥攎ade her gentle to the weaknesses of others. She could not sympathise often with the weak, but she could pity and love. Long years of home-discipline gave humility, self-control, and gentleness.鈥? She came a step closer. 鈥業 have not met with any discourtesy. There are three things in my favour鈥攎y age; my family being of the Sarkar-log; and my receiving no salary.... Another thing which seems to awaken a sort of interest is the fact of my being unmarried. I have met with the idea that there is some merit in celibacy. I repudiated it, and said that in our Book marriage is spoken of as an honourable thing.鈥?