and said, "But Sophy is not you, Charlotte; and we like you best."
The two eldest boys had clambered up the carriage; and, at my
request, she permitted them to accompany us a little way through
the forest, upon their promising to sit very still, and hold fast.

We were hardly seated, and the ladies had scarcely exchanged
compliments, making the usual remarks upon each other's dress, and
upon the company they expected to meet, when Charlotte stopped the
carriage, and made her brothers get down. They insisted upon
kissing her hands once more; which the eldest did with all the
tenderness of a youth of fifteen, but the other in a lighter and
more careless manner. She desired them again to give her love to
the children, and we drove off.

The aunt inquired of Charlotte whether she had finished the book
she had last sent her. "No," said Charlotte; "I did not like it:
you can have it again. And the one before was not much better."
I was surprised, upon asking the title, to hear that it was ____.
(We feel obliged to suppress the passage in the letter, to prevent
any one from feeling aggrieved; although no author need pay much
attention to the opinion of a mere girl, or that of an unsteady
young man.)

I found penetration and character in everything she said: every
expression seemed to brighten her features with new charms, --with
new rays of genius, -- which unfolded by degrees, as she felt
herself understood.

"When I was younger," she observed, "I loved nothing so much as
romances. Nothing could equal my delight when, on some holiday,