Again I repeated to myself--'Ascetic virtues are equally barbarous as vain:--the only just morals, are those which have a tendency to increase the bulk of enjoyment. My plan tends to this. The good which I seek does not appear to me to involve injury to any one--it is of a nature, adapted to the disposition of my mind, for which every event of my life, the education both of design and accident, have fitted me. If I am now put out, I may, perhaps, do mischief:--the placid stream, forced from its channel, lays waste the meadow. I seem to stand as upon a wide plain, bounded on all sides by the horizon:--among the objects which I perceive within these limits, some are so lofty, my eyes ache to look up to them; others so low, I disdain to stoop for them. _One_, only, seems fitted to my powers, and to my wishes--_one, alone_, engages my attention! Is not its possession worthy an arduous effort: _Perseverance_ can turn the course of rivers, and level mountains! Shall I, then, relinquish my efforts, when, perhaps, on the very verge of success? 'The mind must have an object:--should I desist from my present pursuit, after all it has cost me, for what can I change it? I feel, that I am neither a philosopher, nor a heroine--but a _woman, to whom education has given a sexual character_. It is true, I have risen superior to the generality of my _oppressed sex_; yet, I have neither the talents for a legislator, nor for a reformer, of the world. I have still many female foibles, and shrinking delicacies, that unfit me for rising to arduous heights. Ambition cannot stimulate me, and to accumulate wealth, I am still less fitted. Should I, then, do violence to my heart, and compel it to resign its hopes and expectations, what can preserve me from sinking into, the most abhorred of all states, _languor and inanity_? --Alas! that tender and faithful heart refuses to change its object--it can never love another. Like Rousseau's Julia, my strong individual attachment has annihilated every man in the creation:--him I love appears, in my eyes, something more--every other, something less. 'I have laboured to improve myself, that I might be worthy of the situation I have chosen. I would unite myself to a man of worth--I would have our mingled virtues and talents perpetuated in our offspring--I would experience those sweet sensations, of which nature has formed my heart so exquisitely susceptible. My ardent sensibilities incite me to love--to seek to inspire sympathy--to be beloved! My heart obstinately refuses to renounce the man, to whose mind my own seems akin! From the centre of private affections, it will at length embrace--like spreading circles on the peaceful bosom of the smooth and expanded lake--the whole sensitive and rational creation. Is it virtue, then, to combat, or to yield to, my passions?'