ing　over　and　over　again　that　her　aunt　Gibson　would　send　her　an　invitation　up　to　town。　“It　would　be　so　much　better；”　she　said；　“if　she　could　only　get　out　of　the　way　for　a　month　or　two；　till　all　was　over。”　I　did　not　ask　what　she　meant　by　“all　being　over；”　but　I　suppose　she　referred　to　the　expected　decease　of　her　mother　and　the　gloomy　sequel　of　funeral　rites。　Eliza　generally　took　no　more　notice　of　her　sister’s　indolence　and　plaints　than　if　no　such　murmuring；　lounging　object　had　been　before　her。　One　day；　however；　as　she　put　away　her　account…book　and　unfolded　her　embroidery；　she　suddenly　took　her　up　thus—

“Georgiana；　a　more　vain　and　absurd　animal　than　you　was　certainly　never　allowed　to　cumber　the　earth。　You　had　no　right　to　be　born；　for　you　make　no　use　of　life。　Instead　of　living　for；　in；　and　with　yourself；　as　a　reasonable　being　ought；　you　seek　only　to　fasten　your　feebleness　on　some　other　person’s　strength：　if　no　one　can　be　found　willing　to　burden　her　or　himself　with　such　a　fat；　weak；　puffy；　useless　thing；　you　cry　out　that　you　are　ill…treated；　neglected；　miserable。　Then；　too；　existence　for　you　must　be　a　scene　of　continual　change　and　excitement；　or　else　the　world　is　a　dungeon：　you　must　be　admired；　you　must　be　courted；　you　must　be　flattered—you　must　have　music；　dancing；　and　society—or　you　languish；　you　die　away。　Have　you　no　sense　to　devise　a　system　which　will　make　you　independent　of　all　efforts；　and　all　wills；　but　your　own？　Take　one　day；　share　it　into　sections；　to　each　section