such unprovoked malevolence: and my answer is, ‘I cannot tell;’ I can only say, such is the effect of the unfortunate susceptibility of my heart, or, to speak more candidly, of my temper. I confess I cannot, in these particulars, alter my nature. Blame me as much as I blame myself; be as angry as you please, or as you can, my gentle friend: but at last you must pity and forgive me. “Now that all this affair is off my mind, I can sleep in peace: and so, I hope, will you, my dear Emilie--Good night! If friends never quarrelled, they would never taste the joys of reconciliation. Believe me, “Your ever sincere and affectionate “A. SOMERS.” No one tasted the joys of reconciliation more than Emilie; but, after reiterated experience, she was inclined to believe that they cannot balance the evils of quarrelling. Mrs. Somers was one of those, who “confess their faults, but never mend;” and who expect, for this gratuitous candour, more applause than others would claim for the real merit of reformation. So far did this lady carry her admiration of her own candour, that she was actually upon the point of quarrelling with Emilie again, the next morning, because she did not seem sufficiently sensible of the magnanimity with which she had confessed herself to be ill-tempered. These few specimens are sufficient to give an idea of this lady’s powers of tormenting; but, to form an adequate notion of their effect upon Emilie’s spirits, we must conceive the same sort of provocations to be repeated every day, for several months. Petty torments, incessantly repeated, exhaust the most determined patience.