without further interruption our pleasant correspondence.

Your last letter I have read and re-read, not without, I must
confess, some little secret misgiving as to whether you have not
taken one step to mar the happiness of your married life, now so
perfect in its beauty.

You speak, in your own whole-souled affectionate manner, of a
_friend_ with whom you have met, and whose kindness has so won your
affection and gratitude, that you have opened your whole heart to
her. Now, my dear Lizzie, that same little heart of yours is quite
too precious a volume to be thus shown to every new comer who wins
upon you by a few kindly words. You have given it to your husband;
let it be kept, then, only for his gaze; open every page of it for
his inspection, and let him correct whatever errors he may find
traced thereupon. Believe me, dear, you will find no truer or more
disinterested confidant than him to whom you have pledged your
marriage vows.

Do not think I wish to discourage all friendships with your own sex.
Oh, no; they possess too great a charm to be thus rudely thrown
aside. To me, there is hardly a more lovely sight in the world than
the union of two congenial spirits in the tie of sincere and
unselfish affection. But I do not dignify with the name of
friendship those caprices of the moment, which so often assume its
title and usurp its place. A young girl meets another at an
assembly--she is pleased with her manners; thinks her amiable,
because she smiles frequently; intellectual, because she converses
easily; winning and fascinating, because she receives some kind
attentions from her. Forthwith they become devoted _friends_. In a