ourites abroad. For my part, let them praise
me or not, I know that I can do any thing I set my mind upon. At present
I choose to be frivolous. I know I am frivolous. What then? If there is
fun in the world am I not to laugh at it? I shall astonish them by and
by. But, I will laugh while I can. I am sure, there is so much misery in
the world, it is a mercy to be able to laugh. Mr. Pollingray may think
what he likes of me. When Charles tells me that I must do my utmost to
propitiate his uncle, he cannot mean that I am to refrain from laughing,
because that is being a hypocrite, which I may become when I have gone
through all the potential moods and not before.

It is preposterous to suppose that I am to be tied down to the views of
life of elderly people.

I dare say I did laugh a little too much the other night, but could
I help it? We had a dinner party. Present were Mr. Pollingray, Mrs.
Kershaw, the Wilbury people (three), Charles, my brother Duncan,
Evelina, mama, papa, myself, and Mr. and Mrs. (put them last for
emphasis) Romer Pattlecombe, Mrs. Pattlecombe (the same number of
syllables as Pollingray, and a 'P' to begin with) is thirty-one years
her husband's junior, and she is twenty-six; full of fun, and always
making fun of him, the mildest, kindest, goody old thing, who has never
distressed himself for anything and never will. Mrs. Romer not only
makes fun, but is fun. When you have done laughing with her, you can
laugh at her. She is the salt of society in these parts. Some one, as we
were sitting on the lawn after dinner, alluded to the mishap to papa and
mama, and mama, who has never forgiven Mr. Pollingray for having seen
her in her ridiculous plight, said that men were in her opinion greater
gossips than women. 'That is indisputable, ma'am,' said Mr. Pollingray,
he loves to bewilder her; 'only, we never mention it.'

'There is an excuse for us,' said Mrs. Romer; 'our trials are so great,
we require a diversion, and so we talk of others.'

'Now really,' said Charles, 'I don't think your trials are equal to
ours.'

For which remark papa bantered him, and his uncle was sharp on him; and
Charles, I know, spoke half seriously, though he was seeking to draw
Mrs. Romer out: he has troubles.

From this, we fell upon a comparison of sufferings, and Mrs. Romer took
up the word. She is a fair, smallish, nervous woman, with delicate hands
and outlines, exceedingly sympathetic; so much so that while you are
telli