“For once, my dear friend, I am secure of your sympathizing in my indignation--my long suppressed, just, virtuous indignation--yes, virtuous; for I do hold indignation to be a part of virtue: it is the natural, proper expression of a warm heart and a strong character against the cold-blooded vices of meanness and ingratitude. Would that those to whom I allude could feel it as a punishment!--but no, this is not the sort of punishment they are formed to feel. Nothing but what comes home to their interests--their paltry interests!--their pleasures--their selfish pleasures!--their amusements--their frivolous amusements! can touch souls of such a sort. To this half-formed race of _worldlings_, who are scarce endued with a moral sense, the generous expression of indignation always appears something incomprehensible--ridiculous; or, in their language, _outré! inouï_! With such beings, therefore, I always am--as much as my nature will allow me to be--upon my guard; I keep within what they call the bounds of politeness--their dear politeness! What a system of _simagrée_ it is, after all! and how can honest human nature bear to be penned up all its days by the Chinese paling of ceremony, or that French filigree work, _politesse_? English human nature cannot endure this, as _yet_; and I am glad of it--heartily glad of it--Now to the point. “You guess that I am going to speak of the Coulanges. Yes, my dear friend, you were quite right in advising me, when I first became acquainted with them, not to give way blindly to my enthusiasm--not to be too generous, or to expect too much gratitude. Gratitude! why should I ever expect to meet with any?--Where I have most deserved, most hoped for it, I have been always most disappointed. My life has been a life of sacrifices!--thankless and fruitless sacrifices! There is not any possible species of sacrifice of interest, pleasure, happiness, which I have not been willing to make--which I have not made--for my friends--for my enemies. Early in life, I gave up a lover I adored to a friend, who afterwards deserted me. I married a man I detested to oblige a mother, who at last refused to see me on her death-bed. What exertions I made for years to win the affection of the husband to whom I was only bound in duty! My generosity was thrown away upon him--he died--I became ambitious--I had means of gratifying my ambition--a splendid alliance was in my power. Ambition is a strong passion as well as love--but I sacrificed it without hesitation to my children--I devoted myself to the education of my two sons, one of whom has never, in any instance, since he became his own master, shown his mother tenderness or affection; and who, on some occasions, has scarcely behaved towards her with the common forms of respect and duty. Despairing,