every object. I was also lively. What a mistake it is to confound conversational vivacity with good spirits! Few persons who mix in society on the reputation of talent, but feel, or fancy, that there is a necessity for sustaining such reputation: the only method of accomplishing this is by saying something clever, or at least amusing. You know that the many go into the world on the strength of rank or wealth—they have performed their part when they have shewn themselves, their diamonds, or their cashmeres; but you seem to have contracted a debt by your mere admission—and we are all naturally anxious to return an obligation. Soon this exertion for the amusement of others grows a habit—vanity as usual steps in, and then popularity becomes a passion. The worst of it is, the want of moral courage it engenders; you seek too much to say the agreeable instead of the true. Still, this is an excusable fault. Opinion is an author's destiny; what marvel that he should strive by every effort to conciliate an influence so terrible? A despotic power makes slaves.
"This was the pleasantest part of my life. Society relieved without interrupting my studies. I rejoiced in my independence, and was careless about my poverty. I rather disdained than coveted the luxuries I saw: alas! we desire riches more for others than ourselves. What a precious thing would choice be to life! why have we not the sorrowful privilege of rejection? Why, when Laura wished
