Jan. 15, 1833.-I have been trying to think whether I am any happier to-day than I was at this time a year ago. If I am not, I suppose it is the tantalizing way in which I am placed in regard to Charley. We have so much to say to each other that we can't say before mother, and that we cannot say in writing, because a correspondence is one of the forbidden things. He says he entered into no contract not to write, and keeps slipping little notes into my hand; but I don't think that quite right. Mother hears us arguing and disputing about it, though she does not know the subject under discussion, and to-day she said to me:
"I would not argue with him, if I were you. He never will yield."
"But it is a case of conscience," I said, "and he ought to yield."
"There is no obstinacy like that of a f—-," she and stopped short.
"Oh, you may as well finish it!" I cried. "I know you think him a fool."
Then mother burst out,
"Oh, my child," she said, "before it is too late, do be persuaded by me to give up this whole thing. I shrink from paining or offending you, but it is my duty, as your mother, to warn you against a marriage that will make shipwreck of your happiness."
"Marriage!" I fairly shrieked out. That is the last thing I have ever thought of. I felt a chill creep over me. All I had wanted was to have Charley come here every day, take me out now and then, and care for nobody else.
"Yes, marriage!" mother repeated. "For what is the meaning of an engagement if marriage is not to follow? How can you fail to see, what I see, oh! so plainly, that Charley Underhill can never, never meet the requirements of your soul. You are captivated by what girls of your age call beauty, regular features, a fair complexion and soft eyes. His flatteries delude, and his professions of affection gratify you. You do not see that he is shallow, and conceited, and selfish and-"
"Oh mother! How can you be so unjust? His whole study seems to be to please others."