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e the idea of your being there among your friends, as you call them.’
‘Pooh, pooh, you silly girl! Do you think I can’t take care of myself?’
‘You didn’t last time. But THIS time, Arthur,’ I added, earnestly, ‘show me that you can, and teach me cember 25th. – Last Christmas I was a bride, with a heart overflowing with present bliss, and full of ardent hopes for the future, though not unmingle
– Another year is gone. My little Arthur lives and thrives. He is healthy, but not robust, full of gentle playfulness and vivacity, already affectionate, and susceptible of passions and emotions it w wholesome soil! But, I repeat, I have no right to complain; only let me state the truth – some of the truth, at least, – and see hereafter if any darker truths will blot these pages. We have now been full two years united; the ‘romance’ of our attachment must be worn away. Surely I have now got down
