rs."

"Well, now, I've not. I've seen her about three times in my life,
and spoken two words to her perhaps twice; and yet I'll describe her
character to you; and if you can say that the description is incorrect,
I will permit you to call her your friend."

"Well, let's hear the character."

"It wouldn't be kind in me, though, to laugh at your _friend_."

"Oh, she's not so especially and particularly my friend that you need
mind that."

"Then you'll promise not to be angry?"

"Oh no, I won't be angry."

"Well, then; she has two passions: they are for worsted and hymn-books.
She has a moral objection to waltzing. Theoretically she disapproves of
flirtations: she encourages correspondence between young ladies; always
crosses her letters, and never finished one for the last ten years
without expressing entire resignation to the will of God,--as if she
couldn't be resigned without so often saying so. She speaks to her
confidential friends of young men as a very worthless, insignificant
race of beings; she is, however, prepared to take the very first that
may be unfortunate enough to come in her way; she has no ideas of
her own, but is quick enough at borrowing those of other people; she
considers herself a profound theologian; dotes on a converted papist,
and looks on a Puseyite [46] as something one shade blacker than the
devil. Now isn't that sufficiently like for a portrait?"

[FOOTNOTE 46: Puseyite--a follower of Edward Pusey (1800-1882),
one of three scholars at Oxford who started a
movement critical of the Church of England. One
of the three, John Henry Newman, converted to
Catholicism, and Pusey and his followers were
accused of advocating Catholic practices.]

"It's the portrait of a set, I fear, rather than an individual. I don't
know that it's particularly like Miss O'Joscelyn, except as to the
worsted and hymn-books."

"What, not as to the waltzing, resignation, and worthless young men?
Come, are they not exactly her traits? Does she waltz?"

"No, she does not."

"And haven't you heard her express a moral objection to it?"

"Well, I believe I have."

"Did you ever get a letter from her, or see a letter of hers?"

"I don't remember; yes, I did once, a long time ago."

"And wasn't she very resigned in it?"

"Well, I declare I believe she was; and it's very proper too; people
ought to be resigned